You Can Search Me Part 6

"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 a.s.sistant 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 relations.h.i.+p 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 b.u.mped 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 acquainted with Uncle Cornelius and Aunt Flora."

Whereupon I grabbed my hat and ducked for another eat shop without ever glancing at Bunch.

CHAPTER V.

JOHN HENRY GETS EXCITED.

The next day being Sunday, I determined to forget all my troubles and take Peaches out buggy riding.

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.

Peaches and Aunt Martha said very little about Bunch's new relatives. They decided that "Uncle Cornelius" was eccentric and rather interesting, but when they thought of "Aunt Flora" they both got nervous and changed the subject.

When I suggested the buggy ride to Peaches she was delighted, and I moseyed for the Ruraldene livery stable to get staked to a horse.

Anybody who has ever lived in a suburban town will doubtless recall what handsome specimens of equine perfection may be found in the local livery stable--not.

The livery man at Ruraldene is named Henlopen Diffenbingle, and he looks the part,

I judged from the excited manner in which he grabbed my deposit money that morning that he had a note falling due next day.

Then Henlopen shut his eyes, counted six, turned around twice, multiplied the day of the week by 19, subtracted 17, and the answer was a cream-colored horse with four pink feet and a frightened face, which looked at me sadly, sighed deeply and then backed up into the shafts of a buggy with red wheels and white sulphur springs.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The answer was a cream-colored horse which looked at me sadly.]

The livery man said that the name of the horse was Parsifal, because it seemed to go better in German.

I drove Parsifal up to our modest home, and all the way there we ran neck and neck with a coal cart.

Parsifal used to be a fast horse, but quite some time ago he stopped eating his wild oats and now leads a slower life.

When I reached the gate I whistled for Peaches, because I was afraid to get out and leave Parsifal alone. He might go to sleep and fall down.

My wife came out, looked at the rig, and then went back in the house and bade everybody an affecting farewell.

There were tears in her eyes when she came out and climbed into the buggy. She said she was crying because Aunt Martha wasn't there to see us driving away and have the laugh of her life.

We started off and we were rus.h.i.+ng along the road, pa.s.sing a fence and overtaking a telegraph pole every once in a while, when suddenly we heard behind us a very insistent choof-choof-choof-choof!

"It's one of those Careless Wagons," I whispered to Peaches, and then we both looked at Parsifal to see if there was a mental struggle going on in his forehead, but he was rus.h.i.+ng onward with his head down, watching his feet to make sure they didn't step on each other.

Choof-choof-choof! came the Torpedo Destroyer behind us, and I wrapped the reins around my wrist, in case Parsifal should get uneasy and want to print horseshoes all over that automobile.

The next minute the machine pa.s.sed us, going at the rate of 14 constables an hour, and as it did so Parsifal stopped still and seemed to be biting his lips with suppressed emotion.

I coaxed him to proceed in English, in Spanish and Italian, and then in a pale blue language of my own, but he just stood there and bit his lips.