You Should Worry Says John Henry | Page 4

he felt it his duty to
wear them out, and the perspiration rolled off poor Bunch's forehead.
"Tell him to cease firing," I said to Bunch; "he'll sprain his fingers and
lose his voice."
Ikey doubled up all his eight fingers and two thumbs in one final shout
and subsided.
"I'm afraid we'll miss the 5.18 train if we don't hurry," said Peaches,
and I could see that the storm was over, although she still glanced
suspiciously at poor Ikey.
"And, Bunch, you and John can come home with us now, can't you?"
Alice asked as they started to float for the door.

Then Ikey cut in as we started to follow the family parade, "I'm hep to
the situation. It's a cutey, take it from little Ikey. I'll have to charge you
$8 for the sudden attack of deafness; then there's $19 for hardships
sustained by my finger joints while conversing. The rest of the 100 iron
men I'm going to keep as a souvenir of two good-natured ginks who
wouldn't know what to do with a Tango if they had one."
As we pulled out of the Mayonnaise Mansion I looked back at Ikey to
thank him with a farewell nod.
He was halfway under the table, holding both hands to his sides and
making funny faces at the carpet.
CHAPTER II
YOU SHOULD WORRY ABOUT AN AUTOMOBILE
Say! did you ever have to leave the soothing influence of your own
rattling radiators in the Big City and go romping off to a rich relation's
for the week-end?
Well, don't do it, if you can help it, and if you can't help it get back
home as soon as possible.
When Uncle Gilbert Hawley sent us an invitation to run up to
Hawleysville for a day or two I looked at Peaches and she looked at
me--then we both looked out the window.
We knew what a wildly hilarious time we'd have splashing out small
talk to the collection of human bric-a-brac always to be found at Uncle
Gilbert's, but what is one going to do when the richest old gink in the
family waves a beckoning arm?
I'll tell you what one is going to do--one is going to take to one's
o'sullivans, beat it rapidly to a choo-choo, and float into Uncle Gilbert's
presence with a business of being tickled to death--that's what one is
going to do.

You know Nature has a few immutable laws, and one is that even a rich
old uncle must in the full course of time pass on and leave nephews and
nieces. Leave them what? Ah! that's it! Where's that timetable?
Hawleysville is about forty miles away on the P. D. & Q., and it is
some burg. Uncle Gilbert wrote it all himself.
Uncle Gilbert has nearly all the money there is in the world. Every time
he signs a check a national bank goes out of existence. He tried to count
it all once, but he sprained his wrists and had to stop.
On the level, when he goes into a bank all the government bonds get up
and yell, "Hello, Papa!"
When he cuts coupons it's like a sheep shearing.
He has muscles all over him like a prizefighter just from lifting
mortgages.
When Peaches and I finally reached the Hawley mansion on the hill we
found there a scene of great excitement. Old and distant relations were
bustling up and down the stone steps, talking in whispers; servants with
scared faces and popping eyes were peeping around the corner of the
house, and in the roadway in front of a sobbing automobile stood Uncle
Gilbert and Aunt Miranda, made up to look like two members of the
Peary expedition at the Pole.
After the formal greetings we were soon put hep to the facts in the case.
"You see, John," bubbled Aunt Miranda, while a pair of green goggles
danced an accompaniment on her nose, "your Uncle Gilbert loaned the
money to a man to open a garage in Hawleysville. But automobilists
never got any blowouts or punctures going through here because there
isn't a saloon in the town, so the garage failed and the man left town in
an awful hurry, and all your Uncle Gilbert got for the money he loaned
was this car. We've been four years making up our minds to buy one
and now we have one whether we want it or not."

"Fine!" I said; "going out for a spin, Uncle Gilbert?"
"Possibly," he answered, never taking his eyes off the man-killer in
front of him, which stood there trembling with anger.
"What car is it?" I inquired politely.
"It's a Seismic," Uncle Gilbert said.
"Oh, yes, of course; made by the Earthquake Brothers in
Powderville--good car for the hills, especially coming