"So is a trained goat," I came back. "If you stood a crowd of handcuffed actors and authors and managers up in a corner and made faces at them and called them names and blew spitballs in their eyes you could get a laugh from the low foreheads, couldn't you, Bunch?" "Surest thing you know, John." "Well, that's Grouchy Stale's line of endeavor. Say, Bunch, if it were not for the knocks contained therein one of that guy's essays would read like the maiden effort of a lovesick jellyfish. "Did you ever pipe the pure and lofty and highly ennobling sentiments, the spiritually beautiful inspiration which characterizes that book of his--that deft little dip into degeneracy--something about a frozen wedding! Oh, slush! Percy, pass the cigarettes!" "There must be a certain class of people who read that kind of criticism," Bunch said. "That windy stuff Stale hands out is supposed to be criticism, Bunch, but it isn't--it's typewritten egotism." "Yes, but it's useless for you to go after him, John; he'll only hand you another javelin." "Well, the next time that dub throws the gaff into me I'll know he has a reason for it. Hereafter, every time he bats an eye in my direction it's me for a swift get-back, I'll tell you those!" "You should bear the ills of the flesh with Christian fortitude," grinned Bunch. "Nix," I said. "I'm tired holding up something fat for a mutt like that to paddle with a slapstick!" CHAPTER IV. JOHN HENRY GETS A SHOCK. A few minutes later we went into the general restaurant and found Signor Petroskinski waiting for us. His right name was Jeff Mulligan, but Petroskinski sounded more foreign, and he fell for it. I introduced Skinski to Bunch, and in five minutes all the business details were settled. Skinski needed about $900 to pay for a couple of new illusions which were being built for him, and Bunch was appointed a committee to go down to Sixth Avenue and disburse the funds. "I think we've got the real graft, don't you, Skinski?" I said, after the luncheon had been ordered. "It's a pipe!" Skinski replied in pure United States, much to Bunch's surprise. From the name and the make-up I suppose Bunch expected Skinski to yelp in Bulgarian or throw out signals in Graeco-Roman. Skinski was a warm member with the gab thing. He got his start in life travelling with a medicine wagon in the West, and what he didn't know about the show business wasn't necessary. "Say, people!" our star went on, "I've a couple of new card tricks up my sleeve that will leave the Reubens gasping for air. And when I pull my new illusion, entitled, 'Keno, or the Curious Cage,' on the public it will be a case of counting easy coin. Say! did I ever tell you about that gold mine I won in the West many moons ago?" "Nix on the dream work, Skinski," I cut in. "We've put up our good money to start you, so let's get down to the programme."