moonshine--when the heavy villain enters with stealthy tread.

It seems that Donna Mario had been missed from the Palace. Finally the
word gets to Uncle, and although he's a grizzly old pirate, he can
remember back when he was young himself. Maybe he had one of his sporty
secretaries in mind, or some gay young first lieutenant. However it
was, he connected with a first-class hunch that on a night like this, if
the lovely Donna Mario had strayed out anywhere she would sooner or
later camp down on a marble bench.

Whether he picked the right garden seat first rattle out of the box, or
made two or three misses, I don't know. But when he does crash in he
finds the pair just going to a clinch. He ain't the kind of an uncle,
either, who would stand off and chuckle a minute before interruptin'
with a mild "Tut--tut, now, young folks!" No. He's a reg'lar movie drama
uncle. He gets purple in the gills. He snorts through his mustache. He
gurgles out the Spanish for "Ha, ha!". Then he unlimbers a sword like a
corn-knife, reaches out a rough hairy paw, and proceeds to yank our
young hero rudely from the fond embrace. Just like that.

And here again I missed a detail or two. I couldn't make out if it was
the pink thatch of Yohness that gave him away, or whether Uncle could
tell an American just by the feel of his neck. But the old boy got wise
right away.

"What," says he, like he was usin' the words as a throat gargle. "A
curs-ed Gr-r-ringo! For that you shall both die."

Which was just where, like most movie uncles, he overdid the part.
Yohness might not have been particular whether he went on livin' or
not. He hadn't acted as though he cared much. But he wasn't going to
let a nice girl like the Donna Mario get herself carved up by an
impulsive relative who wore fuzzy face whiskers and a yellow sash
instead of a vest.

"Ah, ditch the tragic stuff, Old Sport, while I sketch out how it was
all my fault," says he, or words to that effect.

"G-r-r-r!" says Uncle, slashin' away enthusiastic with his sword.

If our hero had been a second or so late in his moves there would be
little left to add. But heroes never are. And when this Cap. Yohness
party got into action he was a reg'lar bear-cat. The wicked steel merely
swished through the space he'd just left and before Uncle could get in
another swing something heavy landed on him and he was being gripped in
four places. Before the old boy knew what was happening, too, that
yellow