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. Now, let's get down to cases about our opening
Thursday night."

Bunch and I were both puzzled by Skinski's peculiar line of talk,
but we forgot it and completed all the details for the opening the
next night.

It was after eight o'clock when I reached home, and Peaches met me
at the door with the face lights on full.

"Now for the secret!" she chirped, as she dragged me into the
diningroom.

"Make mine a small one," I admonished; "I've had a busy day."

"This is a cure for all your business worries," she gurgled.
"Guess what, John! We sail for Europe next Wednesday!"

"Poor Peaches!" I said sympathetically; "that's what you get for
drinking too much tea."

"I mean it seriously, John!" she cried eagerly. "Uncle Peter has
booked passages on the Oceanic for the whole family, and he is
going to pay all the expenses for a three months' trip."

"Water! water!" I gasped faintly, and I meant it, but Peaches
thought I was only cutting up.

"I knew you'd be delighted," she capered on; "and it was all I
could do to keep from telling you long ago. Uncle Peter says that
this is the dull season in your brokerage business and the trip
will do you a world of good. You need only take a few hundred
dollars for pocket money, and he's going to invest your $5,000
where it will be immensely productive."

I could only sit and listen and pass away.

What would become of Skinski and Bunch and our good money!

How could I ever account for the missing funds without leading
Peaches down to Wall Street and showing her the tall buildings they
had built with my dough.

And while these dismal thoughts ran through my mind Peaches grabbed
that European trip between her pearly teeth and shook the delights
out of it.

That night I had an attack of insomnia, neurasthenia, nervous
prostration and the nightmare, with cinematograph pictures on the
side.

All night long Skinski had me on the stage in a wicker basket,
while Uncle Peter jabbed a sword through me and Dodo sat in the
front row on the aisle yelling "You betcher sweet!"

Thursday broke clear and cloudless. Just before I left home for
the fatal scene Peaches said, "I'm so sorry business will ke