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Updated: May 22, 2025
We were a half-hour early for my appointment with Signor Petroskinski when Bunch and I strolled into the cafe of the Hotel Astor the next day. "Bunch," I said, when the waiter had forced a confession from us, "there's doings out home. Clara J. tipped me off last night that I must hand over my five thousand plunks to be properly invested by the Mayor of Ruraldene." "Uncle Peter!" chuckled Bunch.
Vitus myself, because if Clara J. ever gets wise that I've been speculating again after faithfully promising her to cut out all the guessing contests, she's liable to say something unkind. I simply must get that money back, Bunch, before she knows I lost it, and Signor Petroskinski is the name of our paying teller.
"But this Skinski proposition," Bunch groaned; "isn't that taking a long chance? Clara J. was always bitterly opposed to you having anything to do with a theatrical venture what will she say?" "Peaches needn't be in on this at all," I said. "We'll simply put up a thousand each for the expense money, start Petroskinski, and after the opening night began to gather in the mazooboes.
"Uncle Peter is so delighted that you have kept your promise to me not to speculate any more that he has planned oh! I nearly told, and it's such a secret!" Then I went over into a corner and got busy with my thoughts. Bunch and I would have to get Petroskinski to work in a hurry. We both needed the money.
"Yes, but these schemes of yours sometimes get nervous prostration," Bunch began to fret. "Sush, now!" I said; "this is the real goods. It can't go wrong. It's just like getting money from Carnegie. I've discovered a genius." "A genius!" Bunch repeated; "what kind of a genius?" "His name is Signor Beppo Petroskinski, an Illusionist," I answered. "And he's aces."
"What does he do?" asked Bunch; "spar eight rounds with the piano or sell Persian rugs?" "Nix on the hurry talk, Bunch," I said. "Petroskinski is a discovery of mine, and he's all to the mustard. He's an Illusionist, and he can pull off some of the best tricks I ever blinked at. Say, he has Hermann and Keller and all those guys backed up in a corner yelling for help.
"You should bear the ills of the flesh with Christian fortitude," grinned Bunch. "Nix," I said. "I'm tired holding up something fat for a mutt like that to paddle with a slapstick!" A few minutes later we went into the general restaurant and found Signor Petroskinski waiting for us. His right name was Jeff Mulligan, but Petroskinski sounded more foreign, and he fell for it.
Nobody knew us in the town, so we posed as Cameron & Connolly, owners of the Great Hall of Illusions, and Managers of the World Wonder and Magic King, Signor Beppo Petroskinski, and Ma'moselle Dodo, the Oriental Queen of Mystery. Pretty hot line of goods, eh? We handed out the salve thing to all the paper lads and they were for us good and plenty.
"We're both up against it for fair," I said; "and we'll have to get in the ice-cutting business right away. As I told you, this Signor Petroskinski is the marvel of the age, and we can simply coin money with him. Two thousand dollars will start the driving wheels gi' me your thousand and I'll put it with mine."
"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?"
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