"Are you
going to give us the sorry hand and bow yourself out after we have
put up every mazooboe we possess? What kind of a sour face are you
pulling on us?"
"Oh! pinkies!" he came back. "Did I say anything about quitting
you? Why, I wouldn't give you guys a cold deal not for Morgan's
bank roll. I only wanted to prepare you for certain big happenings
in case there are real doings with that gold mine out in the Blue
Hills."
"Sush!" I laughed; "then it's only the hasheesh. But, Skinski, on
the level, I do wish you'd quit smoking those No. 4's; they'll ruin
your imagination."
"Wait and see," smirked Skinski. "And, by the way, nephew Bunch, I
met a certain old party this morning who thinks you are very hot
fried parsnips!"
"You did," Bunch came back, with a yawn.
"Yes," replied Skinski; "and a nice old man, too, is Mr. William
Grey.'
"Where the devil did you meet Mr. Grey?" Bunch inquired excitedly.
"Back, back up!" said Skinski quietly; "I didn't disgrace my
family. Mr. Peter Grant introduced me to him as your Uncle and I
made good."
"You met Uncle Peter, too!" I asked in alarm.
"Surest thing you know," said Skinski; "but, don't worry. The
Jefferson family tree will never be blown down by any hot air from
me, so rest easy.
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