always for the suds thing," Skinski chipped in. "But never to excess, never to excess. I never see Dodey lit up but once, and that was in Dayton, Ohio, the night we played to the janitor of the hall and his four children. When we came to the place where Dodey is blindfolded and does the decimal fractions stunt on the blackboard the janitor's oldest child fooled Dodey into doing all next week's lessons in arithmetic and Dodey fretted over it, didn't you, Dodey?"

"You betcher sweet!" the leading lady replied, with both eyes following the efforts of the waiter, who was opening a bottle of Pommery.

Bunch was beginning to get uneasy and I had a bad attack of fidgets.

"Say, Dodey!" our bright and shining light went on, "I want you to make a fuss over these two young gents, because they are the only nearly silk on the counter. They've put up their good cush to send me on tour without ever dragging me before a Police Justice to swear that I'm on the level, and if ever that gold mine——"

"Tush!" I interrupted. "I saw you work, Skinski, and you're a wonder; that's good enough for my money."

"Yes, but you never once put a sleuth over the back trail to throw the spot light on my past life," Skinski babbled on. "You're the first white man that ever took a chance with me without lashing me to the medicine ball, and I'll make good for you, all right, won't I, Dodey?"

"You betcher sweet!" she mumbled, with a mouth full of Pommery.

"Say!" said Skinski to me, after we had ordered some breadstuff for the leading lady, "you're not such a late train with the sleight-of-hand gag yourself, Mr. Manager!"

"Oh! I'm only a piker at it," I replied, modestly. "I can do a few moth-eaten tricks with the cards and I've studied out a few of the illusions, enough to know how to do them without breaking an ankle, but I'm not cute enough to be on the stage."

Skinski laughed, and Dodo looked over another glass of Pommery long enough to say, "You betcher sweet!"

"Well," said Skinski, leading a bevy of French-fried potatoes up to his moustache, "you'll know enough about it after I rehearse you to go on and do the show when we hit a fried-egg burg, where there's only a Mr. and Mrs. Audience to greet our earnest endeavors. Say, boys, you'll get a lot of fricasseed experience trailing with this troupe, believe me!"

"I'm only going to be with you for a few days," I answered. "Mr.
Jefferson will be your permanent manager."

"The hell I will!" spluttered Bunch. Then he got red in the face, glared at Dodo, and grouched out a "beg pardon!"

"You betcher sweet!" she replied, patting the Pommery.

"Say, John! you know well enough I can't leave New York for more than two or three days just at this time without having a good excuse to give Alice," Bunch growled, while Skinski and the Circassian lady put the knives to the chicken livers en brochette.

"How about me!" I snapped back. "I can't go out of town at all, except in the day-time. I'll have to duck back to Ruraldene after the show every evening or lose my card in the Happy Husbands' Union. It's different with you, Bunch; you're not married yet."

"It isn't different at all," Bunch whipsawed me. "And you haven't any business to expect me to hike over the country with this outfit while you stay at home and read Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress."

"I won't read that at all," I countered; "I'll read nothing but the ship news to see if you are stranded."

"Well, I won't do it!" snorted Bunch.

"You'll have to do it if you want to win out that wedding money," I retorted. "Is this the way you thank me for what I've done for you?"

"Done for me, nothing!" Bunch bit back. "I put up as much coin as you did, and now you want me to do all the work!"

"Work!" I echoed; "what work is it to count money, eh, Skinski?"

"Counting money is a hot pastime, isn't it, Dodey?" he answered.

"You betcher sweet!" responded the fair lady, gazing dreamily at the empty flagon of Pommery.

"Well, take my word for it," snarled Bunch, "I don't hanker for that sort of amusement. If there's any train-hopping to be done, it's up to you, John. It's your game, not mine."

"Say, are you going to welsh on me now that we've passed over our contract to Skinski?" I asked hotly.

"No, I'm not going to welsh," Bunch came right back, "but I'm only a silent partner in this concern, so you for the Bad Lands to do the barking for the show."

"Why didn't you flash this stingy talk on me before we got started?" I wanted to know. "It's a shine play to wait till you get me all tied up with these artists here!"

Skinski and Dodo both took a bow.

"I didn't," Bunch cackled, "You framed up the whole thing, and now you're sore because I won't leave home and friends to plug your game."

"It's as much your game as mine!"

"It isn't!"

"It is!"

"Rats!"

"Make it twice on the Rats!"

In two seconds more I suppose we would have come to blows, but just then a well-known voice behind us gurgled, "Hayo, John! why, I hadn't any idea you were here! And Bunch, too! I'm so glad to see you!"

It was Peaches, and behind her, smiling sweet approval, stood Aunt
Martha.

Heart failure for mine as I stumbled to my feet and caught the interested expressions on the faces of Skinski and Dodo.

"Aunt Martha and I have been shopping, and we dropped in here for luncheon," my wife rattled on, while I was slowly recovering.

"Of course we don't wish to be de trop," she added, glancing curiously at the famous Skinski and his assistant in the mind-reading tests.

"No, no, Peaches; certainly not!" I spluttered; "hadn't the
faintest idea you were coming in town to-day. Let me present
Bunch's Uncle Cornelius McGowan and his Aunt Flora from
Springfield—my wife and my mother-in-law!"

Skinski and Dodo were wise in a minute, and they never batted an eye, but Bunch took the full count.

Of course he couldn't deny the relationship without giving himself away, so he simply stood there and looked foolish.

"Have you been in the city very long?" my wife said most pleasantly to Signor Petroskinski,

"No, Madam," he answered, with a most courtier-like bow; "we only broke away from the cars this morning, and we bumped into nephew quite by chance, didn't we, nephew?"

Bunch growled something that wouldn't sound well on the graphophone.

"Do you like New York?" Aunt Martha asked the other half of the sketch in an effort to be pleasant.

"You betcher sweet!" said Dodo, whereupon Aunt Martha fell back two paces to the rear and looked pityingly at Bunch.

"If you'll excuse us, Uncle Cornelius and Aunt Flora, I'll take my wife and her mother to the train," I said nervously.

"Not at all, not at all," piped Skinski. "Dodey—I mean Flo—and I don't mind a bit, do we, Flo?"

"You betcher sweet!" she answered, and I saw Peaches glance questioningly at Bunch, who was giving a brilliant imitation of the last rose of summer.

"But, John, I'm so hungry," Peaches pleaded.

"I know, my dear, but you see Bunch has an awful lot of family happenings to discuss with his relatives," I said; "and we must give him a chance to get