Back to the Woods | Page 7

to town to find Bunch for I was certainly up against it good
and hard.

CHAPTER III
.
JOHN HENRY'S BURGLAR.
When finally I located Bunch and told him the bitter truth he acted like
a zee-zee boy in a Wheel House.
Laugh! Say! he just threw out his chest and cackled a solo that fairly bit
its way through my anatomy.
Every once in a white he'd give me the red-faced glare and snicker, "Oh,
you mark! You Cincherine! You to the seltzer bottle--fizz!--fizz! The
only and original Wheeze Puller, not! You're all right--backwards!"
Then he'd throw his ears back and let a chortle out of his thirst-teaser
that made the neighborhood jump sideways and rubber for a cop.
"What are you going to do?" he asked me when presently his face grew
too tired to hold any more wrinkles.
[Illustration: Uncle Peter--the Original Trust Tamer.]
"Give me the count," I sighed; 'I'm down and out."
"Have you no plan at all?" inquired Bunch.
"Plan, nothing," I said; "every time I try to think of a plan my brain gets
bashful and hides. There's nothing in my noddle now but a headache."
"Well," said Bunch, "I'll throw a wire at my sister and tell her not to
move out to Jiggersville until day after to-morrow. In the mean time

we'll have to get a crowbar and pry your family circle loose from my
premises. Nothing doing in the ghost business, eh?"
"Nothing," I answered, mournfully; "I couldn't coax a shiver."
"A fire wouldn't do, would it?" Bunch suggested, thoughtfully.
"It wouldn't do for you, unless you are aces with the insurance Indians,"
I answered.
"We-o-o-u-w!" yelled Bunch, "I have it--burglars!"
"Burglars!" I repeated, mechanically.
"Sure! it's a pipe!" Bunch went on with enthusiasm. "You will play
Spike Hennessy and I'll be Gumshoe Charlie. We'll disguise ourselves
with whiskers and break into the house about 2 o'clock in the morning.
We'll arouse the sleeping inmates, shoot our bullet-holders in the
ceiling once or twice and hand them enough excitement to make them
gallop back to town on the first train. Do you follow me, eh, what?"
"Not me, Bunch," I shook my head sadly. "Nix on the burgle for yours
truly. I must take the next train back to the woods. Otherwise wee
wifey may suspect something and begin to pass me out the zero
language. But I like the burglar idea. Couldn't you do it as a
monologue?"
"What! all by my lonesome?" cried Bunch. "Say! John, doesn't that
sound like making me work a trifle too hard to get my own goods
back ?"
I sighed and looked as helpless as a nut under the hammer.
Bunch laughed again. "Oh, very well," he said, "I see I'm the only
life-saver on duty so I'll do a single specialty and pull you out of the
pickle bottle."
I grasped my rescuer's hand and shook it warmly in silence.
"Leave a front window open," Bunch directed, "and somewhere around
two o'clock I'll squeeze through."
"I'll have it worked up good and proper," I said, eagerly. "I'll throw out
dark hints all the evening and have the bunch ready to quiver when the
crash comes. As soon as I hear your signal I'll rush bravely down stairs
and you shoot the ceiling. I'll give you a struggle and chase you outside.
Then I'll run you down behind the barn. There, free from observation,
you can shoot a couple of holes in my coat so that I can produce
evidence of a fierce fight, and then you to the tall timber. I'll crawl
breathlessly back to my palpitating household, and, displaying my

wounded coat, declare everything off. I'll refuse to live any longer in a
house where murder and sudden death occupy the spare room. It looks
to me like a cinchalorum, Bunch, a regular cinchalorum!"
"It sounds good," Bunch acquiesced, "and I'll give you an imitation of
the best little amateur cracksman that ever swung a jimmy. I'll take a
late train out and hang around till it's time to ring the curtain up. By the
way, are there any revolvers on the premises?"
"Not a gun," I answered, "not even an ice-pick. Uncle Peter won't show
fight. All he'll show will be a blonde night gown cutting across lots to
beat the breeze. Aunt Martha will climb to the attic, Clara J. will be
busy doing a scream solo, and Tacks will crawl under the bed and pull
the bed after him. There'll be no interference, Bunch; it's easy money!"
With this complete understanding we parted and I hustled back to
Jiggersville.
I found the family still delirious with delight with the exception of
Clara J. whose enthusiasm had been dampened by my sudden
departure.
My reappearance brought her back to