"Dad," he asked as he sauntered into the library a little later, "where is Holy Writ?"
"Where iswhat?" asked his astonished parent.
"Holy Writ."
"Why, if you mean the Bible," said Mr. Cane, "it is in on the parlor table." And he resumed the reading of his paper.
For a moment Sube was immovable. Then it dawned on him. The Holy Writ was just another name for the Bible. And those figures underneath the portrait of his favorite were a reference to the Book of Job. He would go back and see what they were.
Half an hour later as Mr. Cane stepped behind the davenport in the parlor to adjust a screen, he nearly fell over the boy.
"What in thunder are you doing there?" he demanded irritably.
"Sir?"
"I said, 'What are you doing there?'"
"Reading." Sube tried to cover up the object of his perusal by lying on top of it; but this move only excited further curiosity on the part of his father.
"What are you reading?"
"A book."
Evasion was always aggravating to Mr. Cane. "What book?" he cried as he struggled to keep down his rising temper.
"This one right here." Sube indicated it with a motion of his body.
"What is the name of it?" thundered the exasperated parent.
"Sir?"
"You heard what I said!"
"The name of this book?"
Mr. Cane did not deign to answer. He simply glowered, opening and closing his hands as if they itched to take hold of something.
Sube understood the look and the convulsive movement of the hands, and made haste to answer: "Why, the name of it's the—" he was compelled to turn the book over and examine the title—"the Bible," he mumbled.
"What's that?" asked Mr. Cane petulantly. "Speak so a person can understand you! Don't mumble."
Sube hung his head as he murmured, "I said, 'the Bible.'"
Mr. Cane softened instantly. He thought he had discovered an undreamed-of spark of reverencein his son. "That's a very good book for you to read," he said kindly. "I hope you'll read it every day."
If Mr. Cane had looked into the parlor two minutes later, he would have realized his mistake. For Sube carefully tore from the Holy Writ a single page which he folded up compactly and thrust deep into his hip-pocket. At that moment he heard his mother's voice calling him; and hurriedly thrusting aside the screen his father had so carefully adjusted, he leaped from the window and was gone.
As Sube's showmanship developed, his manners dwindled. Sometimes it seemed to his family that his reason was tottering. One evening at dinner he humiliated his parents and irritated beyond words a dyspeptic jurist who was his father's guest, by interjecting into the conversation observations regarding the peculiarities of the blood-sweathing behemoth. And this in spite of the fact that his mother had previously warned him that any attempt on his part to participate in the talk at the table would be considered as an unfriendly act. Finally his enthusiasm ran away with him to such an extent that he forced upon the diners over thesotto voceprotests of his mother, an off-hand description of the creature ofJob's fancy, so detailed and so unexpurgated that his instant dismissal from the table became imperative.
He left the room more outraged than chastened, muttering something about being able to "prove it" and fumbling sulkily in his hip pocket apparently for evidence. A few moments later he was standing before his beloved poster regarding his heart's desire with a sense of peculiar proprietorship. After a little he sat down on the grass; and while Sport, his old spotted dog, lay at his feet lazily digging at one ear with a rheumatic hind-foot, Sube drew from his pocket and read aloud in a halting monotone certain portions of the fortieth chapter of the Book of Job, often pausing between verses to verify the observations of the Patient Prophet by comparison with the portrait taken from life.
When the gathering dusk made further reading impossible, and began to blur the features of the behemoth into less pleasing form Sube stood up.
"Sport," he said, "you'll prob'ly make a bum job of it, but you're goin' to be a blood-sweatin' behemoth of Holy Writ."
The dog received this announcement with equanimity, little realizing the inconvenience it was to cause him.
The next day at Sunday School Sube declined to give the Golden Text, and recited in its stead a few verses from the Book of Job to which his teacher, Miss Lester, took choleric exception. He was immediately sent home; but when Miss Lester stopped in to explain matters to his mother he had not yet arrived. As he sauntered in half an hour later he met with a very warm reception and was placed on jail-limits for the remainder of the day, being forbidden to leave the premises. But this entailed no great hardship, for he spent the afternoon in the barn printing posters and making preparations for the circus which he was planning to launch on the morrow.
Monday was a red-letter day for the youth living in that part of the town known as the East Village. The lucky few who were associated with the management were engaged in building the "ampatheater" and fashioning the drop curtain from a quantity of ex-fertilizer sacks that were Gizzard Tobin's contribution to the enterprise; the others were kept busy knocking the show, and at the same time getting together the price of admission.
At about two o'clock in the afternoon a great hubbub was heard in the streets. It sounded at first as if a newspaper extra had arrived; but acareful listener would have been able to make out that the cry was, "Cir-cus!" instead of, "Ux-try!" Then came the additional announcement that the big show would start at two-thirty sharp in the main tent upstairs in Canes' barn.
The barkers darted from place to place with such amazing rapidity and shouted so lustily that it seemed as if there must be nearer forty of them than four. Indeed their cries appeared to come from all sides at once. Nor was the rapidity of their movements accelerated by their circus costumes, for they were all in full dress; and their upturned trousers would insist on coming down over their feet and tripping them up from time to time.
It is possible that this may account for the disreputable condition in which two or three fathers in the neighborhood found their evening clothes the next time they had occasion to wear them. Although, without exception, the boys in the affected families denied any knowledge of the matter.
When the time-piece on the shelf in Canes' kitchen reached two-thirty o'clock the "ampatheater" was crowded to capacity, and although several late comers were assured by the man at the door that there were plenty of "reserved seats for every man, woman and child, one and all, admitted to the bigtent," they found on going inside that there was standing room only.
"Plen-ty of room! Plen-ty of room!" drawled the loud nasal voice at the door. "Do not loi-ter about the entrance, please! Either step in, or step aside! Gangway, please! Gang-way! Do not interfere with our pa-trons—"
These and many other remarks of a distinctly professional nature came from Ringmaster Cane, who seemed to be everywhere at once. Now he was at the entrance keeping it free from loiterers; now his nasal drawl could be heard issuing orders behind the scenes; now he was assisting a couple of ladies to find seats in the "ampatheater"; and at last, with three shrill blasts on a police whistle, he stood before the curtain and cracked his whip for order.
A battered silk hat that had seen his father through a campaign for district attorney a number of years before rested on his ears, causing them to protrude unnaturally, while a full-dress coat with pointed tails that just cleared the floor gave him a quadrupedal appearance. This coat was the wearer's conception of sartorial perfection, having been cut out by his own hands from an old raincoat of his father's. A pair of painter's overalls with a hectic past completed his costume.
And while the audience gazed with interest at the ringmaster, the ringmaster was gazing with equal interest at the audience. He was trying to make himself think that the circus was solely responsible for the gala dress that confronted him, although his better judgment should have told him that most of those present were thus gayly clad for Cottontop Sigsbee's party that was to take place at the conclusion of the performance.
After cracking the whip a few times to show how skillfully it could be done, the ringmaster proceededto deliver a highly entertaining lecture prepared by himself in collaboration with one Job, and to assure his hearers that his show possessed the only "genuine blood-sweatin' behemoth of Holy Writ now in captivity, regardluss of the claims of jealous compet'ors exackly as advertised."
As he gave a preliminary shake of the drop-curtain the anticipations of the audience ran high, for they distinctly smelled something suggestive of the odor of wild animals; but alas, it was only a faint reminiscence from the curtain. After one or two false starts the ringmaster drew back the curtain.
"Behold now behemoth, ladies and gent'mun!" he cried with a sweeping gesture of the hand toward the center of the stage.
With a craning of necks and a straining of eyes the audience beheld a quadruped about the size of Sport and the color of stove-blacking, manacled by a huge log-chain to a Nubian animal trainer who bore a striking resemblance to Gizzard Tobin, although bereft of all clothing save a pair of swimming trunks and a sparse coating of black.
The murmur of disapproval that greeted this tableau was quickly quelled by the ringmaster, as he brought the curtains together and began to declaim in a loud voice:
"Not so pre-vious, ladies and gent'mun! Not so pre-vious, I beg of you! The best is yet to come! You have not seen this wonderful Biblic animal p'form!... Why, ladies and gent'mun, he sweats blood! Bl-l-l-l-ud!... Real,—rich,—red,—human bl-l-l-ud!... Each and every person present is untitled to see him sweat bl-l-l-ud, or money refunded, exackly as advertised!"
Then the ringmaster poked his head between the curtains and said in a desperate whisper quite as audible on one side of the curtain as the other: "Hurry up, Giz! I can't keep this up all night!" and turning to the audience resumed, "Yes, ladies and gent'mun, he sweats bl-l-lud; and Job, this wond'ful blood-sweatin' creature's trainer, is now gettin' his blood ready for him. For, ladies and gent'mun, he does act'ally sweat bl-l-lud! Real,—rich,—red,—human,—bl-l-l-lud! The same as you one and all have got in your insides, exackly as advertised—"
Three distinct raps were heard. Again Sube drew back the redolent curtain and to all appearances the dog-like behemoth was sweating blood profusely. He was completely inundated with a bright red liquid which dripped and trickled down on the floor in numerous gory puddles.
THE AUDIENCE WAS SPELL BOUNDTHE AUDIENCE WAS SPELL BOUND
For an instant the audience was spellbound. Sube was enough of a showman to realize this; but he was not enough of a showman to draw the curtain before the spell could be broken. Intoxicated with success, he attempted to prolong the supreme moment to the uttermost. And thus came disaster. For this particular behemoth was new at the blood-sweating business. In fact, he had no idea that he was sweating blood. He knew only that he was saturated with a chilling liquid, and he did the customary thing: he shook himself thoroughly.
For an instant there was an ominous silence, during which fresh white dresses with socks to match suddenly acquired numberless polka dots, while multitudes of crimson freckles appeared on hitherto unblemished cheeks and arms and legs; and Biscuit Westfall's new white sailor suit, purchased especially for the party, broke out with more red pimples than a bad case of chicken-pox. Nobody was spared. But those in the rear were only sprinkled, while those in the front row were deluged.
Expectorations, expostulations and lamentations followed in order. Then came the most dreaded of all showman's disasters, the ghastly rush for the exits.
Fortunately the stairway was large and the audience was small. There was no choking of the aisles. Nobody was trampled underfoot. Not a single casualty occurred, although Sport had a narrow escape. For, as the howling mob was rushing out of the big barn-door, he came flying down the stairs astride his long tail, followed by numerous missiles and epithets forcefully hurled after him by unseen persons in the loft.
Sube came to a hasty conclusion that Cottontop's party was no place for him, and went into hiding for the rest of the afternoon. Annie called him until she was hoarse, but there was no response. And when she tried to enlist Sport's aid in finding his master the long-suffering creature refused to be lured from his kennel, but spent the remainder of the day licking at the unpalatable mixture of stove-blacking and raspberry juice with a sullen expression that seemed to indicate that even among dogs patience sometimes ceases to be a virtue.
On the whole it was an ignominious ending for Sube's moment of triumph. It threatened to crush his three-ring ambitions; but two weeks later when the special train of Baylum and Barney's Greatest Show on Earth came thundering into town an hour before daybreak, the first person on hand to welcome and assist was none other than Sube Cane.
In spite of the interference of several officious roustabouts Sube succeeded in superintending the unloading of the blood-sweating behemoth's cage, and personally conducted it to the Fair Grounds. When the tarpaulin was removed it was discovered that the cage had been so badly damaged in transit that immediate repairs were necessary.
Arrangements were accordingly made to transfer the behemoth to another cage; and while the roustabouts were still something of a hindrance to the youthful superintendent, matters progressed smoothly until Sport appeared on the scene, fawning humbly and wagging his tail with obsequious joy at the sight of his master.
Sube had placed the dog in solitary confinement before leaving home for the express purpose of preventing his attendance at the circus, and he was greatly annoyed at this display of presumption. He intimated as much in a gruff undertone followed by the vicious throwing of several imaginary rocks. Sport retired with a deeply injured air, and was soon lost to sight in the crowd.
But just as the huge hulk of the blood-sweating behemoth was passing from one cage to the other the faithful animal came back and made a heroic effort to save his master's life by attempting toattack the hideous beast through the bars of the temporary fence by which it was confined.
The unexpectedness of the onslaught caused the behemoth to shy so violently from its assailant that it knocked down the fence on the farther side of the lane through which it was being urged, and suddenly found itself free and unfettered. Meanwhile Sport was pressing his attack with great vocal enthusiasm, and was showing signs of closing in on his quarry. He abandoned this idea, however, when the behemoth turned and made a counter-charge. It was then that a parade not on the program took place.
It was led by Sport, at a pace totally at variance with the ordinary formal circus-wagon parade, for Sport was capable of much more speed than his years and his rheumatism would have induced one to believe. In fact, the only thing that prevented him from making a world's record was his tail, which kept getting tangled up with his front legs.
A short distance behind Sport came the behemoth, lumbering, careening and snorting, but making very rapid progress. Then after a long blank space came Sube the Showman, on a bicycle he had commandeered for the occasion, pressed to the utmost to maintain the pace set by the leaders. Not far behind Sube came a motley crowd of blasphemouscircus-hands and howling urchins. The rear guard was made up of the more mature onlookers whose curiosity was mightier than their caution.
The parade proceeded by the most direct route to Canes' barn, the First Section arriving only a few feet in advance of the Second. Nor did the First Section tarry long in the barn; but hurled itself through a small hole in the rear wall that led into its kennel—and there it fell exhausted. The Second Section brought up with a loud snort in an abandoned horse stall, and stood puffing and wheezing and wondering what to do next, when the Third Section arrived and by almost superhuman efforts managed to close the big barn-door all but a few inches.
The Third Section was peering so intently through the crack of the door in an effort to see whether the Second Section was sweating blood exackly as advertised, that it failed to note the coming of a rubber-tired runabout drawn by a team of milk-white Arabians, until the red-faced individual in charge of the conveyance exploded:
"Well—I'll—be—blowed!"
Sube quickly turned around, and recognizing at a glance that the man belonged with the circus, cried exultantly:
"I've got 'im!"
"So I should judge," replied the man, smiling broadly.
At this moment the broken ranks of the Fourth Section began to arrive, badly winded but still swearing magnificently.
"What do you know about that, boys!" shouted the red-faced individual, pointing with his milk-white whip at a poster on the barn-door.
It was a relic of Sube's circus.
OnLY GenUWiNe BLooD SweATTiNgBoHemuTH oF HoLy WRiT iNcAPiTiVity ADmiSion 5sTc1o MArbLeS oR 20 PiNs
"Did you capture him yourself?" asked the red-faced individual as he clambered heavily from the runabout.
"Yes, sir."
"May I see him?"
Sube's assurance fled. His bashful reply was almost inaudible. "Yes, sir," he mumbled.
"Five cents, I suppose," said the showman loudly as he pressed an unexpected nickel into Sube's hand and peered into the barn.
Sube backed away a few steps and stood picking at the nickel with his thumbnail when the showmanturned from the door and said to the circus hands:
"He's in there all right. Go after him!" Then placing a large red hand on Sube's shoulder he added, "Young man, my name's Barney. I've been in the show business a good many years. But when you get ready to take your show on the road, I'll get ready to retire. You've gotmeskinned a mile!"
Supposing that this was some sort of a doubtful compliment Sube hung his head. He rubbed his lips with the back of his hand. He bored his heel into the earth. A sudden feeling of aversion for the loud-mouthed showman and his cursing assistants swept over him. He decided to abandon his career as a showman. And without raising his eyes he said:
"I ain't goin' int' the show business. I'm goin' to be a lawyer."
Sube Cane had often seen his father wrapped in contemplation, so he knew how the thing ought to be done. He accordingly clasped his hands behind his back beneath the place where coat-tails should have been, drew his eyebrows into a scowl, pursed his lips, and fixed his gaze on the object to be considered.
This proved to be a hole; a small hole in the side of ol' Uncle George Bond's barn, close to the ground. It was perfectly rounded at the top and equipped with a neat sliding-door; and it did look interesting. But then, any hole that there is even the slightest possibility of crawling through looks interesting to a boy. Sube was so engrossed in his contemplations that he started perceptibly on hearing a gruff voice inquire what he thought he was doing there.
He quickly withdrew his hands from underneath the imaginary coat-tails and released the scowl. Then he glanced around to find himself looking intothe grinning face of his friend, Hon. Gizzard Tobin.
"Thought you'd scare me, didn't you?" Sube growled.
"Thoughtso!" cried Gizzard. "Say! You jumped a mile!"
"Well, I guess I didn't jump! I knew it was you all the time."
"Yes, you didn't! What'd you jump for, then?"
"Didn't jump. Jus' moved a little."
"I should say youdidmove! You thought ol' Uncle George was right after you!"
"That shows how much you know about it," Sube sneered as he bent over to examine the hole at closer range.
Gizzard vaulted the fence and came up beside him. "What you lookin' at that ol' chicken-hole for?" he asked disdainfully.
Sube cocked his head over on one side as if to view the problem from another angle and replied: "I was jus' wonderin'."
"What about?"
"Jus' wonderin' if a feller could crawl through there," said Sube pointing a stubby finger at the hole.
"You couldn't, and I wouldn't want to," replied Gizzard with unaccustomed promptness.
"Why couldn't I?" asked Sube deliberately.
"'Cause that there slide's hooked on the inside!"
Sube muttered something unintelligible as he bent over and inserted his finger under the sliding-door. He raised it far enough to demonstrate that it was not fastened, and dropped it as he asked:
"Now why wouldn't you want to?"
"S'pose I want ol' Uncle George to kick the liver out ofme! Why, I jus' looked in the door one day when he was in there, and he swore at me till I was out of sight; and he said if he ever caught me on his premises again, he'd kick the liver out of me! And I bet he would, too!"
Relatively speaking, ol' Uncle George Bond was nobody's uncle; but as a matter of nomenclature he was everybody's. He was death on boys, to be sure. However, his unfriendly attitude was of very little importance at this particular time because he was out of town.
"Gone to Sodus for a month," was the information Sube presently imparted.
"What makes you think so?" asked the skeptical Gizzard, still intent on the preservation of his liver.
"Saw him buy his ticket and get on the train this mornin'. That's what makes me think so! And Iheard him tell the agent he was goin' for a month's vacation!"
"All right," said Gizzard. "I'll go in there if you will—if we can get in."
Sube squeezed through without a great deal of difficulty; but Gizzard stuck fast somewhere about amidships. He kicked and wriggled while Sube pulled, but it was all in vain. It was necessary for Gizzard to back out and shift his cargo before he could come into port. He presently handed in to Sube one baseball, one broken padlock, one bicycle-wrench, one slingshot, and other articles too numerous to mention; and having been thus lightened, he came through without difficulty.
The wonders of the forbidden country unfolded with such bewildering rapidity that the youthful explorers had difficulty in deciding what to try first. However, they soon concluded to redecorate the interior of the barn with remnants left over from the recent painting of ol' Uncle George's house.
When they had tired of being painters they opened a carpenter shop and started to build a boat out of some old boards with the aid of ol' Uncle George's razor-edged tools. This went very well until Sube hammered his thumb, when he retired from the concern and left Gizzard to complete the vessel alone; but after Gizzard had planed a thin layer from the end of his finger he too retired, and the carpenter business went to the wall.
They next engaged in the manufacture of cider, opening a mill in a corner of the barn, where they found a small hand-press. Sube turned the crank while Gizzard poured in bushels of imaginary apples. Then they "put on the brakes" to squeeze out the imaginary juice, which was drawn from a spigot at the bottom in real glasses and bottles with which the place seemed to abound. After a little the strain on their imagination became so great that something had to be done to relieve it.
"If we jus' had a few apples we could make a littlerealcider," Sube suggested tentatively.
"Well, I know where we can get some," said Gizzard. "There's a tree jus' loaded with harvest apples right out behind the barn!"
Without another word both boys started for the opening by which they had entered, but Gizzard, being a little nearer, reached it first. While he was wriggling his way to the outside Sube tried the back door and found it fastened only by a hook. So it happened that when Gizzard reached the apple tree he found Sube already there with his cap half full ofapples. Then the cider business began in earnest.
The apples were small and not very juicy, and the boys soon found that there was quite a little work connected with the manufacture of cider in commercial quantities. But they did manage to make a glassful apiece before they were compelled to knock off for the noon hour.
The partners went out by the back door, which they fastened shut with a piece of board; and as they walked home they made plans for the future conduct of their business.
"We got to put on a few hands to pick up the apples while we run the mill, if we want to increase our produck," Sube informed his partner gravely. "There's too much overhead for us to handle alone."
"I'd say there was too much underfoot," returned Gizzard with equal gravity. "What we want is apples—"
"I guess you don't understand much about bus'ness," was Sube's lofty comment. "Overhead's a reg'lar bus'ness word that means—means somethin' special."
Gizzard defended his position heatedly. "I guess I know jus' much about it as you do!" he retorted. "Underfoot's a reg'lar word, too! And itmeans some'pm special! I've heard my dad use it a hundred times."
For a moment Sube maintained a discreet silence. He wanted to avoid having trouble with his partner at the very beginning of their business career if it could be done with honor; especially as the title to the business was somewhat clouded. Then he said diplomatically:
"Well, anyway, we got to put on a few more hands to pick up apples."
"Right you are," agreed Gizzard. "Who we goin' to get?"
"Oh, we might hire Stucky Richards, and Cathead, and Cottontop Sigsbee. S'pose that'll be enough?"
"We don't want to get too many! The more we have, the more cider they'll drink up."
"That's right. I guess they'll do."
The cider mill commenced business in earnest that afternoon with a full roster of hands. And they soon demonstrated their sufficiency, for apples were delivered at the press faster than the proprietors could dispose of them. When they had picked up all the apples on the ground they threshed the tree until hardly an apple was left on it; and they evenwent so far as to pick a bushel of crabapples for their employers.
The result of the afternoon's work (which was well up in the gallons) was placed in a convenient cask equipped with a spigot. Then the enterprise was reorganized as a saloon. Ol' Uncle George's workbench made an ideal bar, at which thirsty customers clamored for beer, liquor, and other ugly-sounding beverages, that Sube and Gizzard as bartenders served with a flourish an expert sodawater clerk might well have envied.
Then the histrionic muse, never far beneath the surface of youth, came forth and transformed the scene into an extemporaneous drama that was a howling success in spite of its leanings towards the morality play. This production, called by its authors, "Ten Knights in a Barroom"—was, in fact, so successful that the players promised themselves the pleasure of repeating it daily during the ensuing month.
But this proved to be impossible; for that night ol' Uncle George was called home by a fire in his shoe store.
The management declined to make use of ol' Uncle George's properties while he remained in town forfear that he might have occasion to use them himself, and thus bring about some slight unpleasantness in their hitherto delightful relations. Meanwhile the members of the company fidgeted and chafed under the delay.
A rehearsal attempted in Canes' barn was, for some unknown reason, a decided frost. Then they tried Stucky Richards' barn, which was right next door to ol' Uncle George's; and although things went somewhat better there, they lacked the zest of the initial performance.
Stucky's properties, as far as they went, were above criticism; his workbench made an excellent bar; his broken chairs were deliciously hopeless; his cuspidor was admitted by all to be much better than ol' Uncle George's; his bottles and glassware were vastly superior; but there he stopped.
He had no cider press, and no means of getting one. He had no cider; and worst of all he had no spigot-equipped cask without which no disreputable saloon can exist.
But this was not all that troubled the Ten Knights in a Barroom company. Professional jealousy crept in to plague their once placid ranks. By secretly consulting the faded poster in Severn's blacksmith shop (from which he had adapted the name for hisproduction) Sube learned that he had overlooked a character. The next time the company assembled he attempted to rectify his error.
"Say, you kids," he began; "we made a mistake about one thing. You can't all be Old Soaks. Somebody's got to be a little ragged girl that pleads with her drunken father to come home with her. Now who's goin' to be the little girl?"
Cathead thought he scented a conspiracy, and wishing to be on the safe side, volunteered to take the part of the drunken father.
"Not on your life!" cried Sube. "Somebody's got to be a little girl, and you'd make the best one of anybody here. Wouldn't he, kids?"
Stucky and Cottontop were positive that Cathead would make an ideal girl, and they so expressed themselves. But Cathead thought otherwise.
"I won't be a girl! I ain't goin' to be a girl! I never been one and I ain't ever goin' to be one!" he insisted.
"Now looka here, Cathead—" Gizzard began pleadingly.
"I won't look there! And I won't be a girl! I'll be a drunken father, but I'll never be a girl!"
"But somebody'sgotto be a girl!" Sube urged desperately. "Now who's it goin' to be?"
He looked from Cottontop to Stucky and then back to Cottontop again, but there were no volunteers.
"I couldn't be it if I wanted to," Cottontop explained. "I'm too big to be a girl, and besides, there'd be nobody to take my part."
Then Stucky felt that he must have himself excused. "My voice is changin'," he said, purposelycausing his voice to crack and waver. "Hear how it acks! I couldn't be a girl with a voice like that. Everybody'd be onto me in a second."
It seemed to be up to Cathead, but without waiting to be so informed Cathead began to bawl excitedly: "I won't be a girl! I won't be a girl! And if you don't shut up I won't be in your ol' show at all!"
It was at this point that Biscuit Westfall appeared in the doorway, where he paused, a little uncertain as to his welcome; for the attitude of the other boys towards him was subject to change without notice. Sometimes he was tolerated; often he was told to go home; and more often he was tormented until he was glad to retire. Biscuit's life was too sheltered, his character too beautiful to make good company of him. Had he butted into the theater on the day previous he would have been unceremoniously kicked out; but to-day he was hailed with delight.
"We was jus' talkin' about you, Biscuit," Sube began cautiously. "We was wonderin' if you could take a part in our show."
Biscuit was overjoyed. His confidence was restored, and he entered without misgivings as he cried:
"CanI? CAN I? Say! Watch me!Watchme!"
Sube scratched his ear dubiously. "You've said a mouthful, Biscuit:canyou! It's a pretty hard part. Cathead, there, has been teasin' us to let him take it, but we don't think he can do it."
Cathead considered that this was placing him in a false position and tried to protest; but Biscuit drowned him out.
"Say! I've took part in everything they've had in Sunday School ever since I was a littie-bittie baby! I can take any ol' part!"
"Can you plead?" asked Sube.
"Can I plead?CanI! Say! You jus' oughta hear me when I get started—"
"Did you ever take a girl part?"
Biscuit frowned. "I could, but I don't want to. If it's a girl part, let Cathead have it, and I'll take some other part."
A long argument followed, but Biscuit was stubborn. He would not be a girl under any circumstances. So rather than abandon the part Sube reluctantly permitted the child character to be changed from female to male. Cathead gladly assumed the cares and burdens of a drunken parent, and the rehearsal proceeded.
It had not gone very far, however, when Biscuit discovered that he was not to participate in thebacchanalian revel, but was to linger about the doorway pleading with his father to come home with him. Then there was trouble again. Biscuit refused to go on with the part unless he was allowed to drink and have fun in the saloon like the other boys.
Sube was disinclined to sacrifice the historical accuracy of his production, but the part was a hard one to fill and juvenile actors were scarce. So he finally yielded, and suggested a slight alteration of the lines by which the drunken father invites the ragged child to come in and "have some'pm" and the child accepts.
This change being satisfactory to Biscuit the rehearsal went on.
The day after Biscuit joined the Ten Knights in a Barroom Company ol' Uncle George Bond succeeded in adjusting his loss with the insurance company and went back to Sodus. But he had wasted two weeks of his cherished vacation hanging around Morton's insurance office trying to make Bill Morton understand that smoke could damage a stock of shoes as well as fire or water. But ol' Uncle George was too much engrossed in explaining to the insurance adjuster how prejudiced the average person is against having his feet smell like smoke, to go near his barn; so he finished his vacation in total ignorance of the momentous events that had been transpiring there.
When it became known that he had gone back to Sodus the Ten Knights in a Barroom Company resumed work with feverish industry. With no other means of transportation at their disposal than a wheelbarrow with a wobbly wheel they moved toStucky's barn the cider press and the precious cask with its more precious contents; they were going to take no more chances with fire. The entire morning was spent in preparing the stage for the firstrealdress rehearsal since their initial attempt.
The rehearsal was to begin immediately after lunch; and when Biscuit failed to report on time some anxiety was felt for the juvenile part, as his mother was unreasonably strict with him. It would have been just like her to lug him off to some ol' missionary business or other. However, it was not long before he came flying around the corner of the house, shouting as he ran:
"I've got a audience!—I've got a audience!—And it'ssome audience!"
A thrill swept the company. An audience had been the one thing lacking to make the production perfect, although nobody had thought of it before, so much "the thing" had the play been.
"Who is it? Who is it?" came the chorus.
"Mamma wasn't goin'ta let me come back," panted Biscuit, "'cause there's a meetin' of the Temp'rance Union at our house this aft, and when I tole her it would break up our show, she wanted to know what show and I tole her Ten Knights in a Barroom, and she said that was a temp'rance playand it was sweet of us to give it, and could they all come and see it and I tole her you bet they could!"
A spontaneous cheer went up, after which Sube asked:
"What time they comin'?"
"'Bout three o'clock, I tole her. Is that all right?"
"You bet it's all right; only we want to have a rehearsal, and have it dern' quick!"
Sube hastily donned his white apron and began to roll up his sleeves while the other players put on their various costumes. The rehearsal was soon in full blast. There were no preliminaries about this production: the action commenced at once. The bartender and his assistant began to pass out the foaming beakers to Cathead, and to Cottontop and Stucky (who took the parts of First Old Soak and Second Old Soak respectively), while Biscuit peered in at the door, pleading piteously with his drunken father (Cathead) to come home with him. All except Biscuit feigned drunkenness, not even excluding the bartender and his assistant.
In due time Cathead gruffly bade the child to come in and have a little liquor. A second invitation was unnecessary. After his first drink the child, too, feigned intoxication.
As the rehearsal proceeded it was apparent to everybody that the play was a hit. Each actor was overwhelmed by the tremendous success of his own part. And contrary to all expectation Biscuit made a prominent feature of what had been regarded as a minor part. After a little the barefoot lad in ragged garb not only urged his parent to accompany him home, but became so insistent about it that he actually ejected the old gentleman several times, triumphantly returning between the bouts for more liquor.
Then Biscuit became confused about the identity of his father and pleaded with Stucky instead. When Stucky remonstrated, Biscuit not only waxed urgent but simply would not take no for an answer, and for the first time in his life he put Stucky on his back, and then dragged him off the stage howling. This act was repeated at will.
At about that time Cathead, who was usually very shy and retiring, became so fascinated by Biscuit's portrayal of the child character that he decided to try it for himself. He addressed his first pleadings to Cottontop, who rather resented them; and Cathead deemed it advisable to take his intended father down and sit on him. Flushed with success, he did likewise to Gizzard. This was something of anovelty to Cathead. In affairs of this kind he had seldom done the sitting.
The popularity of the child character grew. Every member of the company took a hand in it. And when the putative parent remonstrated, as he invariably did, being at the moment engaged in pleading with some one else, a struggle would ensue.
Sube was attempting to plead with Gizzard, who was at the moment pleading with Cathead; Cathead had just finished pleading with Cottontop and was engaged in taking him down to sit on him; Cottontop did not care to be sat on just then as he was in the act of pleading with Stucky; and as Stucky was pleading with Biscuit and did not want to be pleaded with, he resented Cottontop's advances. And they had fallen in a confused heap on the floor, pleading, yelling, struggling and straining, with Biscuit standing over them asserting in stentorian tones his identity as the only genuine ragpicking pleader in the lot—when the ladies of the Temperance Union, led by Biscuit's mother, entered the theater.
The actors were so engrossed in what they were doing that they did not hear the startled cries of the audience. In fact, they had no idea that their audience had arrived until they felt themselves being pulled apart and separated into individuals.
Biscuit was the first one to be separated from the mass, but he gave his mother no sign of recognition until she had obtained a firm grip on his ear and informed him in biting tones that she had never expected to see the day when she would findhimfighting like a drunken rowdy.
Then he cried joyously, with partly feigned intoxication:
"Hello, ma, ol' girl! I sure didn't know you! I'm glad you got here in time to shee me plead! The rest of these kids think they can plead azh good azh I can, but they can't! They can't plead worth a darn!"
Mrs. Westfall relinquished her hold on the ear as if it had been a hot coal. Her jaw fell. Her breath came with difficulty. The leering face, the disrespect, the profanity! It was more than she could bear. She was shocked. She was humiliated! She was dumfounded!
Quite unmindful of his mother's presence Biscuit lurched towards the gasping members of her temperance flock and called out invitingly:
"Have a little liquor, ladies! Then I'll plead for you! Hey, bartender!"—he stalked over and prodded Sube with his foot—"Wake up there, and 'tend to your customers!"
"Don't touch me," growled Sube. "I'm an awful sick boy!"
"Shick! Who's shick?You?—Aw, come off! You're only playin' up!" bawled Biscuit. "You wazh laughin' louder'n anybody a minute ago!"
But the truth of Sube's assertion was soon apparent to all. He was undeniably sick. And the mere sight of his distress seemed to have an unfavorable effect on the other thespians, for one by one they were seized with similar spasms. Biscuit, who was the last to succumb, was the sickest of all. His moans were the loudest, his convulsions the most violent, his cramps the most griping.
Somebody had the presence of mind to run for Dr. Richards, but he was not in his office. Efforts to get in touch with any of the other physicians in town failed. They were all at the hospital watching the performance of a rare operation by an eminent surgeon from a nearby city. So the women of the Temperance Union helped the stricken boys to their respective homes as best they could, that being considered the proper place to die.
That it was a case of wholesale poisoning was readily apparent to all but the victims. And each mother upon receiving her writhing son, put intopractise her idea of first aid to the poisoned. Stucky Richards' mother tried the stomach pump without fatal results. Mrs. Sigsbee used a mustard plaster on Cottontop's abdomen and camphor on his temples with about equal success. Biscuit's mother prayed; but rather for her son's forgiveness than his recovery.
The Cane boys were put to bed and compelled to drink several quarts of tepid soapsuds while their father was rushing home from the office.
"What have you been eating?" he demanded breathlessly when, at last, he reached Sube's bedside.
"Nu—nu—nuthin'," Sube managed to gulp out.
"Now think hard," urged Mr. Cane sternly. "You must have eaten something or you wouldn't be so sick. Think hard! What did you eat this afternoon, all you boys together?"
"Nu—nu—nuthin'," was Sube's hopeless response.
"Now take your time," said Mr. Cane more soothingly. "Think over everything you did this afternoon—everywhere you went—and I'm sure you'll be able to remember eatingsomething! Doesn't that remind you of something?"
"Nu—nu—no, I told you!" sobbed Sube hoarsely, taking advantage of his sickness to indulge in a little impertinence.
But his father overlooked it and tried another method of interrogation. "Where did you go right after lunch?" he asked.
"Uh—uh—over to Stu—Stucky Richards'."
"All right. You went over to Stucky's after lunch. Then what did you do?" Mr. Cane was going about it as he usually approached an unwilling witness.
"Pu—pu—played."
"You played! All right. What did you play?"
"Tu—Tu—Ten Knights in a Bu—Bu—Bar-room."
"What's that!" gasped Mr. Cane.
"I tu—tu—told you once!"
"All right—all right—how did you play it?" asked the frantic parent.
"It tu—takes too lu—lu—long to tell—"
A serious spasm prevented any further questioning for some moments. Then Mr. Cane tried again.
"What part did you take in this game?"
"It wu—wu—wasn't a game!"
"Well, what was it?"
"It was a mu—mu—mellerdrammer!"
Sube's father was becoming desperate. He had tried kindness without effect. Something must be done before it was too late. Perhaps intimidation would get something out of the boy.
"Sube," he began sternly, "I may as well tell you that you have been poisoned by something you have put into your stomach! If you will only tell me what it is perhaps I can save your life! If not, there's no tellingwhatmay happen! Now, what have you been eating this afternoon?"