I was on the bargain counter, marked down from 30 cents.
Every time Uncle Peter sprang a new idea in reference to his
garden, and they came so fast they almost choked him, I felt a
burning bead of perspiration start out to explore my forehead.
Presently to put the froth of fear upon my cup of sorrow there came
a telegram from "Bunch" which read as follows:
New York ----
John Henry
No. 301 W. 109th St.
Sister and family will move in country house tomorrow be sure to
play your game to-day good luck.
Bunch.
"Poor John! you look so worried," said Clara J., anxiously; "I
really hope it is nothing that will call you back to town for a
week at least. It will take us fully a week to get settled, don't
you think so, Aunt Martha?"
I dove into my coffee cup and stayed under a long time. When I
came to the surface again Uncle Peter was explaining to Tacks that
baked beans grew only in a very hot climate, and in the general
confusion the telegram was forgotten by all except my harpooned
self.
Clara J. and Aunt Martha were both tearful when we left the flat to
ride to the station, but to my intense relief no mention was made
of the trunks, consequently I began to lift the mortgage from my
life and breathe easier.
On the way out Tacks left a small parcel with one of the hall boys
with instructions to hand it to the janitor as soon as possible.
"It's a little present for the janitor in loving remembrance of his
memory," Tacks explained with something that sounded like a catch
in his voice.
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