I felt sure he'd be tickled to a stand-still--not!
CHAPTER VII.
JOHN HENRYS HAPPY HOME.
Early the next morning I broke camp and took the trail to town,
determined never to come back alive unless Bunch agreed to sell the
plantation to Uncle Peter.
The old gentleman had crowded his check for $20,000 into my
trembling hands the night before with instructions to deposit it in
my bank, and at my convenience I was to let him have the deed to
the place.
Well, if Bunch should refuse to play ball I could send the check
back to Uncle Peter, and a telegram to Clara J., telling her that I
was back in the flat, laid up with a spavined fetlock or something.
Uncle Peter was out in the garden planting puree of split peas or
some other spring vegetable when I started for the train, so all
the Recording Angel had to put down against me was the new batch of
Ochiltrees I told Clara J.
I soon located Bunch, and to my surprise found him more inclined to
josh than to jolt.
[Illustration: Bunch Jefferson--All to the Good and Two to Carry.]
"Ah! my friend from the bush!" he exclaimed; "are you in town to
buy imitation coal, or is it to get a derrick and hoist your home
affairs away from my property? Why don't you take a tumble, John,
and let go?"
"Bunch," I said, "believe me, this is the crudest game of
freeze-out I ever sat in. My throat is sore from singing, 'Father,
dear father, come home with me now!' and every move I make nets me
a new ornamentation on my neck.
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