"I know. Bunch, I know just how you feel. I'm quite a bit to the St. Vitus myself, because if Clara J. ever gets wise that I've been speculating again after faithfully promising her to cut out all the guessing contests, she's liable to say something unkind. I simply must get that money back, Bunch, before she knows I lost it, and Signor Petroskinski is the name of our paying teller. I tell you, Bunch, we can't lose if we handle this cinch right, and I've got it all framed up. It's good for a thousand plunks apiece every week, so cut out the yesterday gag and think of a fat to-morrow." "I'd like to see this Petroskinski," said Bunch. "I'll have him take luncheon with us to-morrow at the Hotel Astor--twelve thirty. Are you for me to the finish, Bunch?" "If you think it's all right I'll trail," said Bunch, and we shook hands. "But not a word to the home folks," I cautioned him. CHAPTER II. JOHN HENRY GETS A SUFFICIENCY. Since Uncle Peter Grant was elected Mayor of Ruraldene one book ago, our family group considers it extremely disloyal to stay in the big town for more than four hours at a time. So with us it is a case of catching those imitation railroad trains at all sorts of hours and commute to beat the band. Since I became a confirmed commuter I have sprained three watches and two of my legs trying to catch trains that are wild enough to dodge a dog-catcher. The commuters are divided into two classes: going and coming. One of the first rules for a commuter to follow after he locates the railroad station, and hikes there a couple of times to get in training, is to get a red and pink and blue hammock. A hammock is a necessary evil in the country, because only by this means can the insects become acquainted with the new commuter. The day after we first put up our new hammock Uncle Peter came rubbering around to look it over. He was all swelled up over being elected Mayor, and he dropped in the hammock with a splash. Ten seconds later the rope exploded and Uncle Peter made a deep impression on the stone porch. Every mosquito in the neighborhood rushed to his assistance and tried to lift him up with their teeth. Then Uncle Peter ran home and told Aunt Martha that Cinders, our bulldog, had tried to bite him. The national emblem of the commuter is the lawn-mower. The lawn-mower was invented originally for the purpose of giving the lawn a quick shave, and because it can't talk like a barber it makes a noise like the fall of Port Arthur. I remember the first day I decided I would trim the vandyke beard on our lawn. Of course I got all mine, and I got it good. The result will always live in history side by side with the battle of Gettysburg. The lawn-mower was sleeping peacefully in the barn when I rushed in and dragged it shriekingly from its slumbers. Perhaps it was because I forgot to lather the lawn, but any way it was the hardest shave I ever had anything to do with.