"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.
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