rotten, because somebody may be sitting up for us with a
rock. But Charlie says Greenwich has developed into a great show
town since five new families' moved there last summer. Wednesday
we get into Stamford for a run--two performances. Friday we are
booked at South Norwalk and Saturday we play matinee and night at
Saugatuck Junction. Charlie says Saugatuck is a cinch money-maker
because it's a Junction. When I asked him what there is about a
Junction that makes it a safe play Charlie excused himself and went
to lunch. After Saugatuck we are not booked, because Charlie says
something may fall down in New York and he may want to yank us
right in. And, say, if Signor Petroskinski, the Illusionist and
Worker of Mystical Magic, ever gets a crack at a Broadway audience
it'll be a case of us matching John D. Rockefeller to see who has
the most money."

"No, we better not bring Skinski into New York," Bunch advised.
"I'm afraid of the critics."

"What critics?" I inquired. "There are only four people in New
York city who can write criticisms--the rest of the bunch are
slush-dealers, and a knock from any one of them is a boost."

"I mean Mr. Stale," Bunch put in. "If he were to roast our Skinski
it might hurt our business."

"It would--among the Swedes and Hungarians," I cross-countered.
"I'm wise to Mr. Stale, _nee_ Cohenheimer, the Human Harpoon! Say,
Bunch! he's a joke. I caught him the day he first left the
blacksmith shop, some ten years ago, with a boathook in each hand
and a toasting fork between his teeth. That duck isn't a critic,
he's only a Foofoo."

"What the devil is a Foofoo?" Bunch asked.

"A Foofoo is something that tried to happen and then lost the
address," I explained. "Did you ever pipe Stale's cheery bits of
humor as exemplified in one of his burning criticisms? Well, I'll
put you wise, Bunch:

"I went to the Kookoo theatre last night, I and myself. _Voila!
tout bien_! I have seen lots of shows before, I have, but I have
never, I solemnly declare, seen any show so utterly banal as this.
The libretto was written by some obscure person who never reads my
criticisms for if he did he would know that I abhor Dutch dialect.
One reason I hate it so much is that some people can write it so
well that they make more money than I do writing English
undefiled--oh! the shame of it! _Voila! tout suite_! But to
return to our muttons, as we say in Paris whenever I go there.
Tottie Coughdrop p