“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 keep you in the city this evening, John; but of course I realize you have much to do before we sail on Wednesday.  Alice Grey just phoned over that she has a box at a theatre somewhere, I didn’t ask her where, but if you’re sure you won’t be home I’ll go with Alice and Aunt Martha.”

“By all means,” I answered, and kissing her good-bue I trolleyed to New Rochelle.

Bunch was there ahead of me and so were Skinski and Ma’moiselle Dodo, all working like beavers.

“I’m going to take the 11:40 to town,” Skinski informed us after all was in readiness for the performance.  “I have a very important date, haven’t I, Dodey?”

“You betcher sweet!” she puffingly replied.

“But I’ll be back before six o’clock and I’ll give ’em the show of my life,” Skinski continued.  “How’s the sale?”

“There’s a three hundred dollar advance sale,” Bunch replied; “and Pietro in the box office says we’re good for a five or six hundred dollar window sale if it’s a fine night.  You can gamble we’ve let ’em know we’re in town, all right!”

“Right!” chirped Skinski.  “You’re the best bunch of managers I ever roomed with and nothing’s too good for you.  I’m for the 11:40 thing now, so you better rent a stall in the local hotel and rest up till show time.  How about you, Dodey?  Are you for hunting a thirst-killing palace and getting busy with a dipper of suds?”

“You betcher sweet!” the large lady replied, and with that she grabbed Skinski’s arm and they left us flat.

Bunch and I loafed around till about an hour before show time, when we put a young chap we had sworn to secrecy on the door, and then we went back on the stage and began to chatter nervously.