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I know the tobacco trust, and the cordage trust, and lots of other trusts that are interested, are trying to make him believe that the gold brick he bought is good stuff, and that he must protect it, or some other nation will get it away from him, but you wait until that Scotch-Irish blood of the President begins to boil, when he finds out that he has been bunkoed, and he will get those trust magnates together some day, and he will get pale around the gills, and mad as a wet hen, and he will say that he has heard about all the funeral dirges on the longdistance telephone from Manila that he wants to hear, and that the wails of the mourning mothers of the dying boys are keeping him awake nights, and that he has got about enough, trying to put bells on the Filipino wildcats, and that they can take the whole Philippine archipelago and go plum to hades with it, for he is going to stop the death rate, and get those boys home and set them to plowing corn."
Git!" and the boys went outdoors and made a rush for a soda fountain. "Now, Uncle Ike," said the boy, as he watched his army going clown the street, "I have got a favor to ask of you. I want you to give me music lessons." "Well, I'll be bunkoed," said Uncle Ike, as he began to pull the sweater off over his head.
"What is this, a telegram?" says Uncle Ike, as he takes it with his sticky fingers and feels for his glasses. "No, it is the bill for the melon 50 cents," said the grocer's boy. "Bunkoed, by gosh!" says Uncle Ike, as he looks around at the laughing boys who have played it on him. "Don't ever ask where a melon comes from," said the red-headed boy.
I thought he might show up at the studio in a day or so, to submit some get-rich-quick fake to me. But he didn't. A couple of weeks goes by. Still no Uncle Jimmy. I was beginnin' to look for accounts in the papers of how an old jay from the coast of Maine had been bunkoed and gone to the police with his tale of woe; but nothin' of the kind appears. They don't always squeal, you know.
He said the directors had tied his hands by promising that no workmen should be imported. If they promised that, they sure bunkoed themselves. Friendly, huh." "The people haven't been friendly, eh?" Weir said. "Does it look like it when these Mexicans won't work enough to earn their salt? They openly boast that we dare neither make them work nor fire them.
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