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Updated: September 24, 2025
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.
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.
Uncle Peter obeyed instructions, and he nearly choked with astonishment when his diamond came to view. It was a neat bit of work and Skinski became a solid success with Uncle Peter. "Did I understand you to say, Mr. McGowan, that you are a commission merchant in Springfield, Ohio?" the Mayor asked Skinski when the applause had subsided. "I'm a used to was," Skinski corrected.
I felt sure that Bunch was rid of his grouch by this time, and that he wouldn't have a rock in his hat for me for pulling that "Uncle Cornelius" gag. I rather expected he'd show up at Ruraldene some time Sunday evening. At any rate, I was sure Skinski and the Dodo bird had conned him back to real life, and that by Monday morning he'd be ripe for work again.
"There was a time when I commished for fair, but the bogie man caught me and I lose all I had. Since then I've been trying to sell a gold mine I own out in the Blue Hills." I tried to sidetrack Skinski and lead him away from the smoking room, but Uncle Peter insisted upon hearing more about those dreamland gold mines.
"I mean, Bunch, that Skinski is the wonder of the age, and all we have to do is to show him to the public and they'll be handing us their jewelry. You know, Bunch, I'm a few chips shy myself on account of a side play which my wife knows nothing about. I promised her to make a first payment of $5,000 on that new home we're going to buy on the first of the year, and I fell down and broke my promise.
Presently Uncle Peter and Skinski shook hands about something, and five minutes later Bunch's "relatives" took their departure to the accompaniment of much internal applause on my part. "Mr. McGowan is a very accomplished gentleman," Uncle Peter decided; "but handicapped by a most depressing wife, most depressing. The Blue Hills, eh! the Blue Hills! Now, I wonder "
"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.
"We've put up our good money to start you, so let's get down to the programme." "Oh! very well," said Skinski; "but I was down to see my brokers to-day in Wall Street and there are doings. I've got a plantation full of gold out near the Blue Hills, and " "Please don't smoke, there are ladies present!" admonished Bunch.
"By all means," I answered, and kissing her good-bue I trolleyed to New Rochelle. Bunch was there ahead of me and so were Skinski and Ma'moiselle Dodo, all working like beavers. "I'm going to take the 11:40 to town," Skinski informed us after all was in readiness for the performance. "I have a very important date, haven't I, Dodey?" "You betcher sweet!" she puffingly replied.
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