e before a Police Justice to
swear that I'm on the level, and if ever that gold mine----"

"Tush!" I interrupted. "I saw you work, Skinski, and you're a
wonder; that's good enough for my money."

"Yes, but you never once put a sleuth over the back trail to throw
the spot light on my past life," Skinski babbled on. "You're the
first white man that ever took a chance with me without lashing me
to the medicine ball, and I'll make good for you, all right, won't
I, Dodey?"

"You betcher sweet!" she mumbled, with a mouth full of Pommery.

"Say!" said Skinski to me, after we had ordered some breadstuff for
the leading lady, "you're not such a late train with the
sleight-of-hand gag yourself, Mr. Manager!"

"Oh! I'm only a piker at it," I replied, modestly. "I can do a few
moth-eaten tricks with the cards and I've studied out a few of the
illusions, enough to know how to do them without breaking an ankle,
but I'm not cute enough to be on the stage."

Skinski laughed, and Dodo looked over another glass of Pommery long
enough to say, "You betcher sweet!"

"Well," said Skinski, leading a bevy of French-fried potatoes up to
his moustache, "you'll know enough about it after I rehearse you to
go on and do the show when we hit a fried-egg burg, where there's
only a Mr. and Mrs. Audience to greet our earnest endeavors. Say,
boys, you'll get a lot of fricasseed experience trailing with this
troupe, believe me!"

"I'm only going to be with you for a few days," I answered. "Mr.
Jefferson will be your permanent manager."

"The hell I will!" spluttered Bunch. Then he got red in the face,
glared at Dodo, and grouched out a "beg pardon!"

"You betcher sweet!" she replied, patting the Pommery.

"Say, John! you know well enough I can't leave New York for more
than two or three days just at this time without having a good
excuse to give Alice," Bunch growled, while Skinski and the
Circassian lady put the knives to the chicken livers _en brochette_.

"How about me!" I snapped back. "I can't go out of town at all,
except in the day-time. I'll have to duck back to Ruraldene after
the show every evening or lose my card in the Happy Husbands'
Union. It's different with you, Bunch; you're not married yet."

"It isn't different at all," Bunch whipsawed me. "And you haven't
any business to expect me to hike over the country with this outfit
while you stay at home and read Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress."

"I won't read that at a