"Now, I'm going to pay you each $6,000 to cancel my contract,"
Skinski added, after our eyes had feasted on his roll.

I looked at Bunch, and Bunch was stepping on his left foot to see
if he was awake.

"No, by Hick! I'll make it seven thousand each," Skinski chortled.
"You two guys put up your last dollar on me, and you didn't know
whether I was an ace or a polish. I like you both, for you brought
me good luck. Tear up the contract and take $7,000 apiece, is it a
go?"

"Just as you say, Skinski," I answered nervously. "Of course, if
you want the tour to continue, why----"

"Yes, of course," Bunch chimed in; "if you want the tour to
continue, why----"

"Oh! pinkies!" said Skinski; "what do I want to go hugging
one-night stands for when I have a hundred thousand booboos in the
kick. It's the Parisian boulevards for us, and a canter on the Boy
Bologna, eh, Dodey?"

"You betcher sweet!" she gurgled thirstily.

And so it came about that we destroyed the contract, pocketed our
seven thousand each, and bade Skinski and Dodo an affecting
farewell.

Bunch and I couldn't talk for hours afterwards.