But Sube was in the state where he would not thank anybody for saving his life. His response was listless.
"Nu—nu—nuthin'."
At this moment Mrs. Cane, who with Annie had been in constant attendance at the bedside of Cathead, whose malady seemed to be much more active than Sube's, came into the room.
"What did you do with the ten-pound sack of sugar Annie says you carried off?" she asked desperately.
It was necessary to repeat the question several times before she succeeded in obtaining a reply.
"Pu—pu—put it in the su—su—cider," Sube finally confessed.
"Cider!" cried Mr. Cane exultantly. "Have you been drinkingcider?"
"A lu—lu—little."
"Where did you boys get cider?"
"Mu—mu—made it."
"Made it!" Mr. Cane could not believe his ears. "Made it? How could you boys make cider?"
The process was soon explained. But Mr. Cane was still in doubt. It seemed incredible that a little sweet cider could bring about such disastrous results.
"How much did you drink?" he asked at length.
"Just a lu—lu—little."
"But what was the sugar for?" Mrs. Cane persisted.
"Why, whu—when we made the cider it was swu—swu—sweet; but when we went to du—du—drink it, it was su—su—sour! So we put the shu—shu—sugar in it!"
"When did you make it?" asked his father.
"About tu—tu—two weeks ago—"
"T-w-o w-e-e-k-s!" gasped Mr. Cane as he fell across the bed in a state of total collapse. "Two weeks!—And hot weather at that!"
The telephone rang. Mr. Cane answered.
"Hello!" he called. "That you, doctor?"
"——"
"Stomach pump? No, I guess not. They're about half-full of tepid soapsuds just now, and they seem to be doing very well without any pump at all."
Then Mr. Cane listened for a long time chuckling softly. At last he said:
"Well, don't operate, doctor! I've found your poison!"
"——"
"Hard cider!"
Sube Cane had never heard life defined as just one certain kind of thing after another, but he knew that it was so; for so he had found it. And, when, a few days after the final performance of Ten Knights in a Barroom, he had turned the house upside down hunting for his Wild West hat only to learn that his mother had given it away a few days before, he felt the tragedy of existence as never before.
"Gave it away!" he gasped in stricken tones. "What'd you do that for?"
"Why, I had no idea that you wanted it," she replied; "it was always lying around in the way. You never wore it, and besides, it had a great hole through it."
Sube scowled. "Who'd you give it to?" he asked peevishly, with an insane idea of getting it back.
"To some women who were soliciting for the destitute Belgians," she answered. "You ought to be very glad to help such a worthy cause."
"What were their names?"
"I'm sure I don't know. They were representatives of the Red Cross Society who had come all the way down from Rochester."
And Sube went out of the house wronged and brooding, and threw himself down on the grass near the kitchen door, where Gizzard joined him a short time later.
"Now, what do you know about that, Giz?" growled Sube, as Gizzard jumped up and caught a limb of the apple tree and started to skin the cat. "They went and gave away my Wild West hat."
Although the cat was only partially skinned, Gizzard delayed the operation long enough to remark that it was no great loss anyway.
"I guess you don't know the hat I mean," returned Sube warmly. "I mean the hat that Buffalo Bill wore in the Indian fight, and got a bullet-hole through!"
Gizzard dropped to the ground. "If you mean that ol' felt hat you found on the Fair Grounds the day after the circus," he said without mercy, "I knowthatone."
The authenticity of this hat had long been disputed; and even now, after it was gone, Gizzard was unwilling to concede to it any of the virtues withwhich Sube's imagination had clothed it. And in addition to this, Gizzard had grievances of his own. The solicitors had by no means passed him by.
"You needn't think you're the only one," he complained. "My mother went and give away the best pair of ol' pants I had. She gave 'em to the sufferin' Belgiums."
"Huh!" snorted Sube disdainfully. "Nothin' but an ol' pair of pants! What's an ol' pair of pants, anyway? Everybody's got an ol' pair of pants to give away; but let me tell you they won't get another genuwine hat that Buffalo Bill wore with a hole shot through!"
But the former occupant of the pants refused to have them lightly treated. "Let me tell you that them pants wasn't to be sneezed at!" he retorted. "They was the bestol'pants I ever had. You never seen such pockets in your life—great big, deep fellers, and a little secret money-pocket—"
Reference to this secret pocket reminded Sube of something. "You mean those gray pants with the buckle on the back and all the suspender buttons on 'em?" he interrupted.
"Yep, the very ones," replied Gizzard, pleased that his apparel should have made such an impression on his friends. "'Member 'em?"
"You bet I remember 'em!" cried Sube enthusiastically. "That's the pair we used to sing the song about—'Papa's Pants Will Soon Fit Gizzie!'"
"Well," returned Gizzard defiantly, "they wasn't an ol' felt hat that a horse had stepped on, anyway."
The allusion was somewhat pointed, but Sube did not follow the matter up. Instead, he asked amicably, "Who did the beggin' over to your house?"
"A couple of ladies from Rochester," answered Gizzard. "I didn't see 'em, but that's what Ma said."
"That's jus' what I thought," muttered Sube as he practiced "jumping the fence" with his jackknife, and at the same time turned an idea over in his mind. Presently it came out. "Look 'ere, Giz," he said, "if a couple of ladies can come down here from Rochester and get away with a lot of stuff, what's the reasonwecan't go around and get hold of some good things?"
"They wouldn't give 'em tous."
"Not if we said they was for the sufferin' Belgiums?" demanded Sube. "I'll betcha they would!"
"But what do we want of a lot of ol' women'sclo's and hats and things, and ol' men's shoes?" asked Gizzard.
"Sell 'em to the second-hand man!" howled Sube jubilantly. "He'll buyanything, and pay us good cash money for it, too! But," he added after a moment, "we won't sell 'em any of the ol' men's shoes, 'causeIcan wear 'em. I got good big feet on me; I can wearanyman's shoe!"
Gizzard glanced quickly down at Sube's feet, and then at his own; then he gave a disdainful grunt. "Bet my feet are as big as yours," he declared, "if not bigger."
"Aw, come off," retorted Sube. "You got reg'lar little baby-feet."
"Is thatso!" demanded Gizzard belligerently. "I'll measure up with you any ol' time." And he planted one of his feet alongside of Sube's in such a way that the toe of his own shoe extended slightly beyond that of his competitor. "There!" he howled exultantly. "What'd I tell you?"
Sube shoved him away forcefully, at the same time muttering, "Cheater! There was room enough for your other foot back there by my heel."
"Beater!" shouted Gizzard lustily.
"Cheater!" responded Sube as lustily.
"Beater!"
"Cheater!"
This shouting was continued for some time with the regularity of a couple of canvasmen driving a tent stake, each of the contestants firmly believing that the first one to give up would be the loser. But Annie declared the argument a draw by suddenly opening the screen door and throwing cold water—a pail of it—on the contestants.
As soon as they had retired to a safe distance Gizzard started to renew the argument, but Sube refused to go on with it. "Listen here, Giz," he said, "we could keep on chewin' about it all night, and wouldn't prove an'thing. The only way to do is wait till we get a pair of good ol' man-size shoes, and then we'll try 'em on, and the one they fit the best has got the biggest feet. What's the matter of that?"
"I'll go you!" replied Gizzard with enough spirit to show that he had no fear of the outcome. "But how do we know they'll give us any men's shoes?"
"We'll ask for 'em," replied Sube with a great show of assurance.
"What'll we say?"
"We'll say we're collectin' for the sufferin' Belgiums, and that they need ol' men's shoes awful bad. And if they've got any, they'll give 'em to us."
"And what if they ast us where we're takin' the things to?" asked Gizzard.
"We'll tell 'em our mothers are the committee, and that we're takin' the things to our house; and thatweare jus' runnin' errands for 'em."
And so the thing was done. Their first call netted them two gingham aprons and a faded morning dress of a type the boys called "wrappers" and a woman's hat, untrimmed. Their next brought them several pairs of women's shoes in an advanced state of dilapidation. This offering had really been made ready for the rubbish-man, but the donor thought that if the Belgians could use it, they were welcome to it.
"We better sling all this junk away," suggested Gizzard as they reached the street.
"Sling it away!" cried Sube. "Well, I guess not! This is as good as money to us; the second-hand man will buy every bit of it!"
"What'll you gimme for my share?" asked Gizzard skeptically.
"Oh, you wait," was Sube's evasive reply; "you jus' wait till that little ol' second-hand man comes round, and then you'll be glad we didn't sling it away. We'll have more money than we know what to do with!"
Of course, at the moment, neither of the boys knew how literally true this prediction was to turn out. In fact, Gizzard's reply was little more than a dubious muttering to the effect that they'd better "dump the dern' stuff at the barn" before stopping anywhere else.
Sube refused to do this. "'Tain't the best way," he argued. "The best way is to have our arms all full of stuff when we go to a house, and then they'll think we're genuwine, and give us more."
And Sube was right. The mere sight of the "wrapper" reminded the next lady of the house they called on, that she had one she could spare. And before long the stock of "wrappers" was quite complete, with sizes full, and a wide range of patterns to select from.
Then suddenly there came from the clear sky, so to speak, the most splendid offering of the day: a silken slumber-robe of stunning checkerboard design, and trimmed with a shimmering band of panne velvet.
True, there were coffee stains on the front and paint stains on the back, but it was a gorgeous garment. And the suggestive effect of it was wonderful; for the first door at which Sube knocked after he had hung the slumber-robe over his arm, responded with a man's suit of gambler's-plaids that could have been suggested by nothing else.
And with the plaid suit came a crimson vest with a set of brass buttons that was nearly complete. The combined effect of the slumber-robe and the suit and the vest drew from the next place a pair of men's lemon-colored shoes with moth-eaten cloth tops—and before the members of the Belgian relief committee had reached the sidewalk they were in a turmoil.
The shoes had been handed to Gizzard; but the moment Sube got his eyes on them he politely offered to relieve Gizzard of the burden.
"You got your hands full, there, Giz," he said; "I'll take those shoes."
"Never mind," replied Gizzard, brushing hurriedly by. "I can handle 'em all right."
But Sube insisted. "I ain't got much of a load," he prevaricated, reaching towards the shoes and dropping one or two of the things he was carrying. "I'll take 'em."
"I don'tthinkyou will," growled Gizzard. "I'll keep 'em myself. She give 'em tome! And besides, they're too big for you."
"I ain't afraid of that," returned Sube angrily. "All I'm 'fraid of is that they ain't big enough."
As he said this he suddenly dropped his burden on the ground and made a grab for the shoes.
"No, you don't!" howled Gizzard, dropping his own burden and jumping back. But he was too late; Sube had already snatched one of the shoes and was reaching for the other. A struggle ensued, each boy holding fast to the shoe he already had and trying to get possession of the other; but it was of short duration. For each boy realized that he could not overpower the other without the unrestricted use of both hands.
As suddenly as it had started, the struggling stopped, and each boy dropped on the grass and began to remove a shoe preparatory to putting his half of the bone of contention in the only safe place he could think of. And at practically the same instant both were back on their feet again ready to resume the struggle. But the hopelessness of holding one end of an evenly matched opponent while removing a shoe from the other end became apparent to both; and muttering things about "showing" each other they took up their burdens, and still muttering, made their way back to "headquarters."
Sube was the first to enter the barn and deposit his load of cast-offs on the floor, and as Gizzard came shuffling along a short distance behind looking down at his mismated feet, Sube grunted:
"Umgh, I'm glad that shoe didn't fall off'm you 'fore you got here; it fits you like a cup on a pump."
Gizzard snorted with rage. "I'llshowyou how it fits," he threatened, "if you don't give me my other shoe! She give them shoes tome! She put 'em right in my hands, and they're mine!"
If Sube had been entertaining any ideas of taking the shoe from Gizzard by force, he did not show it, for when he spoke again his voice was calm and peaceful. "Listen here, Giz," he pleaded; "look at this bully gambler's suit. Jus' think of wearin' a suit like a feller that keeps a good tough pool hall! You gimme that other shoe, and I'll give you my share of this suit, and the red vest besides."
But Gizzard was not to be sidetracked. "Whatdo I want of an ol' suit of clo's?" he demanded angrily. "I wouldn't give that shoe for a dozen of 'em! Now you gimme my shoe 'fore it falls off! She give that shoe to me, and it'smine!"
For a moment Sube hesitated; then he bent over and unbuttoned the lemon-colored shoe, and kicked it across the barn. "Take your ol' shoe!" he blurted out. "It's too small for me, anyway!"
"Ya-a-ah!" jeered Gizzard as he leaped after it. "Too small, nuthin'! Y'could of kicked it off without unbuttonin' it at all!"
"It pinched my foot, or you wouldn't have got it so easy," muttered Sube; "but let me tell you one thing, Mr. Gizzard—I get my pick of all the rest of the men's shoes we take in."
Gizzard felt that he could afford to be generous. "Sure you do," he assented readily. "But I can tell you that there won't be nuthin' to compare with these good ol' cloth-tops," he added as he finished buttoning the shoe which he had just put on, and began strutting up and down before Sube in a most tantalizing way.
This was too much for Sube, who stood up and pretended to yawn as he said, "Well, you better be gettin' 'em off so's we can go on collectin' things."
"Gettin' 'em off?" demanded Gizzard with an offended air. "I don't think I'll be gettin' 'em off. I'm goin' to wear 'em!"
"Wear those lookin' things in public?" sneered Sube. "Well, if you do, you'll go collectin' alone.Iwon't go with you."
"You bet I'll go alone," said Gizzard. "And we'll soon see who it is that gets all the best things." And he shuffled out of the barn and went his way.
"Remember, now," Sube called after him, "I get my first pick ofallthe men's shoes no matter who brings 'em in."
Gizzard nodded his head several times and started in an easterly direction. As soon as Sube saw which way Gizzard had gone, he picked up the slumber-robe and started in the opposite direction. He went by the most direct route to the home of one Achilles Whitney, a gentleman constructed on the lines of a white hope. But here he met with complete failure and withdrew empty handed.
Next he tried the residence of Mr. Silas Peck, an ex-sheriff and a man of some weight; but here he acquired nothing but an old derby hat and a quantity of feminine apparel, which he had now come to regard somewhat lightly.
His next stopping place was the door of Oliver Lyman, Esquire, another gentleman of Goliathicsize. Here, as in other places visited by him alone, he made a special plea for men's shoes for the "sufferin' barefooted Belgiums" and he nearly died of joy when he saw the size of the pair the generous Mrs. Lyman handed out to him. He hurried back to headquarters at once, and there Gizzard found him a few minutes later, most fetchingly attired.
Sube had put on the pool-room suit and red vest, and in order to display the vest to the greatest advantage he had thrust his hands deep in the pants pockets. Gizzard was beginning to think that perhaps he had overlooked a bet on the suit, when he suddenly caught sight of the shoes. He stopped in his tracks and stood as if transfixed, motionless and speechless, while Sube was bustling around arranging some of the merchandise. And in spite of the mammoth size of the shoes he had on, Sube walked gracefully—almost naturally. But there was a reason for this; he had been foresighted enough to put Mr. Lyman's shoes on over his own. Yet how was Gizzard expected to know that?
For only a moment was the wearer of the lemon-colored shoes speechless; then he managed to stommer out, "S-S-Some s-s-shoes there, Sube. Where'd you ever dig 'em up?"
"These shoes?" Sube gave his partner a patronizing look. "Why, I was goin' past Lyman's, and I guess M's Lyman must of looked out of the window and seen how big my feet was, 'cause she come right to the door and called me. 'Seward,' she says, 'here's a pair of shoes I bought for Mr. Lyman in Rochester, and they're too big for him. He can't wear 'em; but I thoughtyoumight be able to wear 'em,' she says. So I tried 'em on, and they fit like the paper on the wall. How do you like 'em?"
Gizzard gazed enviously at the great flat, liver-shaped shoes his companion was wearing, and replied, "They're all right, only they're black. They don't match your suit as good as these here shoes of mine would."
"They match plenty good enough to suitme," Sube assured him; "and besides, those shoes of yours are too small for me."
"Too small!" howled Gizzard. "Why, you had 'em on jus' a little while ago!"
"Not both of 'em," replied Sube; "onlyoneof 'em. And that's why I give it back. Didn't I tell you right then it was too small for me—?"
"Vell, you say coom dree o'clock," said a harsh voice behind them. "I coom; vat y'vanta sell?"
It was the buyer for Mose Smolenski, Everything New and Second-Hand Cheap for Cash.
Sube was the first to recover from his astonishment. "Why," he managed to get out after a struggle, "why, we want to sell all this prope'ty." He made a sweeping gesture that included not only the clothing contributed in the name of the "sufferin' Belgiums" but his father's new lawn-mower, piano-box, garden tools, and a pile of kindling wood.
The magnitude of the offer aroused the suspicions of the second-hand man at once. "Dot's a gooddeal," he muttered; "it's too mooch, altogedder too mooch."
"Too much?" cried Sube. "How do you know it's too much? We haven't told you what we wanted yet?"
The second-hand man shook his head many times as he repeated slowly, "Altogedder too mooch."
"We'll sell it awful cheap," said Sube anxiously.
The buyer continued to shake his head.
"We'll sell it for about half what it's worth."
Still the buyer shook his head.
"We'll sell it for less than that!" cried Sube in desperation. "We'll sell it for anything! Make us an offer!"
That was enough for the representative of Mose Smolenski; now heknewthat something was wrong. "I make you no offers," he said, moving towards the door; "y't'ink I vanta get ar-r-rested?"
Sube drew back in astonishment. "Arrested?" he gasped. "What for?"
The second-hand man shrugged his shoulders. "Vell, I donno. Mebbe you buy it. Mebbe you steal it. I donno. I make no offers for dis t'ings"—he waved a knotted hand towards the interior of the barn—"but mebbe I buy dem shoes y'got on; how mooch y'vant for dem?"
With conscious pride Sube glanced down at his feet and replied, "They're not for sale. It's the only pair I got that fits me."
The second-hand man turned away with another shrug of his rounded shoulders. "Vell, if your popper or your mommerhesay all right, vy, den ve talk pizness."
Sube was very much put out. "My popper and my mommer ain't got a dern thing to do with this prope'ty," he growled. "It's mine, I tell you!"
"Vell, goo'-bye. Mebbe I come see you some odder day," said the second-hand man smiling pleasantly through his sparse beard as he started down the driveway.
The boys were still looking helplessly at each other when he climbed into his ramshackle wagon and drove away. At last Sube burst out angrily, "He thought we stole it! What do you know about that?"
"I know we got all this stuff on our hands," muttered Gizzard, "and I wisht it was in Halifax!"
"But he thought westoleit!" Sube persisted. "As ifwe'dsteal an'thing."
"We didn't steal it," Gizzard agreed; "but here itis, and what are we goin' to do with it? That's what I wanta know."
"We'll do something with it all right," Sube declared sullenly. "That ol' second-hand man ain't the only one who can buy things."
"Well, what'll we do with it then?" asked Gizzard.
Sube made no immediate answer. He didn't know himself. But he felt an idea coming, and he struggled hard to reach into the infinite and grasp it.
And in the meantime, at an afternoon bridge given by Mrs. Prentice Y. Prentice, Sube's mother had heard for the first time of the Belgian relief work being carried on in her name.
"Oh, it can't be possible," she said; "somebody must have made a mistake. Of course, I am thoroughly in sympathy with the Belgians, you know; every one is. But, really, I haven't been able to find a moment to devote to any such work."
"You haven't!" called Mrs. Potter from an adjoining table. "Why, my dear! Your name was distinctly mentioned at our house. Celeste came straight from the door and said that the messengers from Mrs. Cane had come to see what I could give to the suffering Belgians. And I sent you the most gorgeous silk slumber-robe, one that I picked up in Paris. Do you mean to say that you never got it?"
Mrs. Cane was quite overcome. "Why, I neverheard of such a thing!" she exclaimed. "Who could have done such an underhanded trick?"
"Some swindlers, without a doubt," Mrs. Rice put in. "Just to think of making those poor Belgians the excuse for a lot of fraud. Why, I gave them a beautiful pair of Mr. Rice's shoes, broadcloth tops, you know. I don't know what he'll say when he finds they're gone; and if he should ever discover that the Belgians didn't get them after all—well, I'd never hear the last of it! And you know that Mrs. Van Auken who lives next door—of course you don'tknowher; I don't myself; but you know who she is—well, I saw her handing out one of her husband's race-track plaid suits.Thatought to be easy to trace!"
At every table Mrs. Cane found one or more victims of the fraud, and little else was talked of wherever she was. When the party finally broke up she was in a high state of agitation.
"You're all upset, dear," said Mrs. Potter who had come up to her in the dressing room. "You must let me take you home in my new motor. The ride will brace you up wonderfully."
"Oh, but that would take you out of your way," remonstrated Mrs. Cane as unconvincingly as possible.
"But, my dear! What is a block or two to an imported motor?" Mrs. Potter waved her fat hand deprecatingly. "Nothing; abs'lutely nothing! And François controls that sixty horsepower motor as if it were a Shetland pony. He's wonderful!"
And thus it happened that Mrs. Cane and Mrs. Rice, and one or two others who lived in the same neighborhood were handed into Mrs. Potter's purring limousine by the much-liveried François, and rolled off majestically amid the ten-inch upholstery.
"I can't understand how any one wouldDAREto use my name in such an unwarranted way," murmured Mrs. Cane as the limousine got under way.
"Oh, mydear!" exclaimed Mrs. Potter. "They dare do anything these days. If they have stopped at merely using your name, you are to be congratulated. They have probably forged your signature and exhibited your photograph all over town."
The idea was very distasteful to Mrs. Cane. "I should hate to think of those awful men—theyweremen, weren't they?"
"I didn't see them myself," replied Mrs. Potter, "but it seems to me that Celeste said they were boys."
Mrs. Cane started perceptibly. "Boys?" she gasped.
"Why, yes; I'm sure that's what she said," returned Mrs. Potter. "But if you want to trace them, that silk slumber-robe ought to be a great help.There isn't another like it in this country. Picked it up in Paris, you know; soft, clingy silk crêpe in large checks of black and white, and the most gorgeous panne velvet border!"
This opportunity was too good for Mrs. Rice to overlook. She had personally handed out the lemon-colored shoes, and had recognized the solicitors beyond peradventure. "If you should inquire around among the victims, dearie," she drawled out with carefully stimulated lack of interest, "you might find somebody who could identify them."
At that moment the car drew up at the curb and came to a stop. Mrs. Cane glanced out and exclaimed, "What! Home already!— But what is the crowd? Oh, I hope our house isn't on fire!"
As she struggled hurriedly out of the limousine without waiting for the assistance of François, the other passengers craned their necks to see what the excitement was. And as they looked, a startling checkered device that was instantly recognized as Mrs. Potter's slumber-robe fluttered out over the heads of the jostling multitude, where it waved proudly for a moment, and was then gathered back into the hands of an individual standing on the top of a rudely constructed counter about which the crowd was clustered.
And as he spread the silken folds over his arm so that all might see it to better advantage, he began to cry out in the loud voice of an auctioneer:
"One dollar, one dollar, one dollar—one dollar, one dollar, one dollar—I am offered only one dollar for this be-e-eautiful garment that a certain rich lady—you all know her—bought in the large city of Rochester; I am offered only one dollar, one dollar, one dollar—she told me herself only this morning that it cost FIVE!—and yet I am offered only one dollar, one dollar, one dollar, ONE DOLLAR!—I will put it back in stock before I will sell it for such a ridic'lous figger. You don't know what you're missin'."
He slung it on a line stretched above his head, and turning to a corps of assistants who were waiting on a clamoring public (composed of neighborhood domestics and Italians from across the railroad tracks), sang out:
"Hand up something else, men! We must slaughter this stock to aid the sufferin' Belgiums! We must aid the dessolute Belgiums!"—and he held up a pink "wrapper."—"Now, what am I offered to start this to aid the dessolute—"
The crowd parted, and fell back on either side, opening up a passage for a woman in white who wentrapidly towards the counter, in front of which she came to a stop.
THE AUCTIONEER PAUSEDTHE AUCTIONEER PAUSED
At the sight of her, patrons of the sale tucked their purchases under their coats and departed in haste, and the auctioneer paused with his mouth open as if a word had stuck halfway out. The pink "wrapper" fell from his nerveless hand, and the gambler's-plaids in which he was clad became as slack and empty-looking as a fallen tent. Everything about him seemed to wilt except his remarkable shoes; and they were as long, and as large, and as liver-shaped after her coming as before.
For one long minute she gazed at the auctioneer; and as she gazed the clerks vanished, the multitude melted away, the auctioneer slid down from his perch and shuffled towards the house, and the limousine gnashed its gears, cleared its throat, and swept down the street. And all that was left was the unspeakable litter incident to a successful rummage-sale, the boxes and boards of the improvised counter, a few odds and ends of stock, and above all, fluttering in the breeze, the gorgeous slumber-robe that Mrs. Potter had picked up in Paris.
A riot-call over the telephone summoned Mr. Cane and a couple of huskies to the scene. And while the huskies demolished the second-hand storeand tucked it somewhere out of sight, Mr. Cane did likewise with Sube.
The next day Gizzard made his appearance at the Cane home at an early hour. But he did not yodel in the yard or whistle under the window. Instead, he walked decorously up to the front door and rang the bell.
When Annie opened the door and saw who the caller was, she was somewhat put out. "How many times have I got to tell you boys—" she began crossly.
But Gizzard did not quail. He had hardened himself for an ordeal, and the encounter with Annie was as nothing to him. "I wanta see M's Cane," he said with quiet dignity.
Annie was so impressed by his demeanor that she stopped her tirade and ushered him into the library. Then she went to call her mistress. In due time Mrs. Cane came.
Gizzard stood up and strained at his cap as if he expected to find his voice in the lining, for it was strangely missing. For a moment Mrs. Cane watched him with amusement. Then she took pity on him.
"You came over to apologize, didn't you, Charley?" she said kindly. "Well, it's all right; Iaccept your apology. I am sure you boys didn't realize what you were doing, or you never would have done what you did yesterday. But, of course you understand that you and Seward must return to the rightful owners everything that is left; and I think that perhaps you will want to be doing it right away. Seward is waiting for you in the barn."
Gizzard's eyes spoke eloquently of his gratitude; but his voice went back on him. For all he could say as he moved circuitously towards the door was, "Goo'-by."
When Gizzard went into the barn a moment later he found Sube standing in an attitude of dejection before a heap of cast-off shoes and clothing on the floor.
"Hello, Sube," he said humbly.
"Hello, Giz."
"What'd she do to you yest'day?"
"Sheonly locked me in the closet."
"What'd your dad do?"
"Plenty much. What'd you catch?"
Gizzard twitched uncomfortably at the recollection. "First, Ma licked me and sent me to bed without any supper, and when Pa come home he said it wasn't enough; so he licked me again and tol' me I'd haf to come over and 'pologize to your mother."
Sube brightened up at once. "Let's go do it now," he suggested.
"Ya-a-ah! I've done it!"
"Gee, I'd like to been there to heard you. What'd she say?"
"Oh,—she didn't say so much," replied Gizzard importantly. "She took it all right."
"There wasn't much left to say," muttered Sube. "She'd said it all to me."
"Well," Gizzard sighed, "she did say we'd got to take this stuff back. But"—he added in a lower tone—"she didn't say nuthin' 'bout the dough. How much was they, anyway?"
Sube glanced cautiously about before he answered, "Twenty dollars and seventeen cents!"
Gizzard's jaw fell. "Gosh all hemlock!" he gasped. "What'll we everdowith it?"
Sube shook his head hopelessly. "Dern'd if I know," he muttered.
"Where'd you put it?"
"Up there." Sube pointed to the place over the door where he had hidden the candle the night they started for the Mexican border. "Want to see it?"
"Not on your life I don't. I don't want nuthin' to do with it!"
Sube sighed. It seemed as if his troubles would never end. "Well," he said finally, "we might as well be takin' this stuff back."
"You know where it all goes?" asked Gizzard.
Sube poked the pile of clothing with his foot. "That pink one's Miss Mandeville's, and that blue and white thing b'longs to Hubbell's. Where'd that green sweater come from?Youbrought that in."
And so they went on for some time. They sorted out and put in one pile all articles that they were able to identify. The others were left in a heterogeneous mass that was a good deal of a problem to them until they happened to think of some rubbish-barrels a short distance up the alley. And there the second-hand man found them a few days later.
The boys had not been specifically instructed as to what explanation was to be made to the property owners at the time of making restitution, so they took that matter into their own hands. The formula adopted was something like this:
"There was a mistake made about some of these things, and the committee asked us to bring them back and say thank you very much." And the messenger dashed away without waiting long enough for any complications to arise.
But throughout the period of restoration, thelemon-colored shoes had been conspicuously absent. Sube did not overlook this fact, but he was a little sensitive about speaking of the matter for fear of causing Gizzard undue embarrassment. And, doubtless for the same reason, Gizzard forebore making any comment about the absence of the shoes last seen on Sube at the time of the auction. Perhaps each partner assumed that the other had gone by himself and made restoration. But in any event, neither the one pair nor the other was ever seen in public again.
But in a little cubby-hole above the barn-door was something not so easily disposed of. It made no sound; it had no perceptible odor; and yet, every time the boys went into the barn they were reminded of it. Twenty dollars and seventeen cents has more ways than one to make its presence known.
Sube treated it with supreme indifference; he would not so much as glance up at the hiding-place. But Gizzard was more impressionable, for suddenly he cried out:
"I wisht the dern stuff was in Halifax!"
"I wisht it was," muttered Sube; "but it ain't. And it's a lot of money."
"It's more'n I ever want to see again!" exclaimed Gizzard warmly. After a moment of silence hecried, "Hey, Sube, why not give it to the Sunday School?"
Sube shook his head. The impropriety of giving tainted money to the church occurred to him at once, but Gizzard's suggestion to give it away had put an idea into his mind. "What's the reason we can't send it back to the gover'ment?" he asked. "We could put it in an envelope and mail it to the President."
"What's the President got to do with it?" demanded Gizzard.
"Well, the gover'mentmadeit, didn't it? And the President's the same as the gover'ment, ain't he?"
In common with a number of other people, Gizzard was not sure about this. He said he would have to ask his father. And at this point the bell rang to summon Sube to his midday meal. As the boy seated himself at the table his father asked:
"Have you returned all those things that were out in the barn?"
"Yes, Papa," answered the boy quietly. "We took them all back."
"Well, what did you do with the money?" Mr. Cane inquired. "You must have taken in some money."
"We haven't done an'thing with it—yet."
"What are yougoingto do with it?" asked the merciless inquisitor.
"Why,—why, we were thinking about sending it to the President, so he could put it back in the treasury."
"Conscience money, eh?" demanded Mr. Cane. "Well, it's a great relief to discover that youhavea conscience. But why don't you satisfy your conscience by devoting it to the purpose for which you raised it?"
Sube looked up at his father with an expression of ineffable relief. "Couldwe do that?" he asked breathlessly.
"Why not?" replied Mr. Cane. "By the way, how much was there?"
"Twenty dollars and seventeen cents."
Mr. Cane uttered a low, long whistle. "And the auction was only half over when it was raided!" he murmured. "Mother, you ought to let this boy handle the next charity bazaar for the church."
"I ain't hardly had a decent swim all summer," Sube complained to Gizzard one day late in August. "It's all right to go in on the sly once in a while, but when you got to do it all the time it gets to be a chestnut."
"Well, why don't we fix up some other swimmin'-hole?" suggested Gizzard.
"The Unionville hole is the only decent one there is!" returned Sube bitterly. "And I'm goin'ta fix that Bigmouth Bissett so's he won't come botherin' whenI'min swimmin'! That's what I'm goin'ta do!"
Gizzard's interest was aroused at once. "What you goin' to do to 'em?" he asked.
"Never you mind! I'll fix 'em! He'll be sorry he ever monkeyed aroundme!"
"But how'll you fix 'em?" Gizzard insisted.
"You jus' wait! I'll show you!"
To tell the truth Sube did not then know what he was going to do to his arch enemy. But he had supreme faith that there is always something to be done if one can only think of it. Relations had been strained ever since the limburger episode. Seth Bissett had sworn that he would avenge himself, and he was everywhere regarded as a gentleman of his word in matters of vengeance.
Accordingly, whenever Sube and his companions had desired to take a swim, they had deemed it advisable to post a sentry in a place where he could command a view of the approach to the swimming-hole. And as picket duty usually fell to Biscuit's lot no matter who counted out or how, Biscuit made slow progress in mastering the art of swimming in the water with the same degree of skill he exhibited on top of the kitchen table. He was still inclined to swim like a fish—under water.
But he was a past-master at the art of "chawin' beef." He could untie knotted clothes faster than any other member of the gang—perhaps because he had had more practice—and he was familiar with every known penalty meted out to "the last man with his clo's off." He could tell with clairvoyant certainty who was "cracking stones"; and as a sentry he stood in a class by himself. He never slept, he never loafed; he never slipped back to take a peek at the game of tag. But when the enemyapproached he quickly spread the alarm so that the swimmers could snatch up their clothes and retire into the bushes.
At first the element of danger was exhilarating; then it became bothersome; and finally, intolerable. It was at this stage that Sube made known his intention to fix Seth Bissett. Not long afterwards he went into the silence and emerged with an idea. Then his actions became suspicious, and his face assumed a look of inscrutable determination. The subsequent acts of Sube and Gizzard were baffling in the extreme. They repaired to the upper story of the barn for a conference; but when Annie innocently entered the barn a few moments afterwards in quest of kindling wood, Sube's suspicions were aroused, for suspicions are one of the most precious possessions of boyhood.
"Bet she's follerin' us!" he whispered.
Gizzard glanced cautiously about before he replied, "Prob'ly."
"Let's get out of here and go to some place that's safe."
An adjournment was thereupon taken to the midst of the berry patch in the rear of the deserted house, to which they had fled the night Dan Lannon was after them. From there they returned to the barnand obtained the ball of strong twine that Sube had used on his box kite, after which they took a roundabout course that brought them at dusk to the Unionville Mill.
They slipped across the bridge and plunged into the jungle back of the swimming-hole; and there they lay in hiding until the last laggard swimmer had left. Then they stepped boldly into the clearing.
After assuring himself that the coast was clear Sube drew back his sleeves in imitation of a prestidigitator. "Watch me closely, ladies and gent'mun!" he began in an undertone. "The hand is quicker than the eye."
He made a few baffling passes with his hands and produced the ball of string. This he held aloft between his thumb and forefinger that each and all might see.
"I have here a simple little ball of twine, ladies and gent'mun! A simple little—"
"Aw, shut up!" cried Gizzard good naturedly. "And go on up that tree 'fore it gets so dark you can't see nuthin'!"
Sube immediately began to climb the huge leaning willow that overhung the pool, protesting meanwhile that the hand was quicker than the eye. Butafter he had ascended a few feet he became singularly silent. Between the darkness and the foliage Gizzard lost sight of him completely, but he did not appear to be alarmed, for he lay down on his back and gazed up at the stars that were just beginning to become visible. It was some time before Sube re-appeared laboriously lowering himself to the ground. As soon as his feet touched the sod he snatched the ball of string from his teeth and spat vigorously.
"Rottenes' string I ever tasted!" he sputtered.
"Well," returned Gizzard, "if it's any worse'n chawin' a knot out of a porpoise-hide shoestring, I don't want any."
"But I got it fixed all right," said Sube.
Then Gizzard led the way into the shrubbery, followed by Sube, who carefully paid out the string as he went. An observer might have thought that the pair were intent upon outwitting a labyrinth; but assuredly such was not their purpose. For after retiring a few paces into the underbrush, Sube tied the string securely to a sapling, and detaching the ball with his knife, put it into his pocket; then, taking hold of hands in order to keep together they made a wide detour to avoid coming in contact with the string, and started for home.
The next night was a memorable one in the annals of the Unionville swimming-hole. None of the bathers present that night could think of anything else for several hours afterwards; and the pangs of some of them lasted well into the next day, and even the day after that. The thing began just as Seth Bissett was poised on the bank for a dive.
He heard a vicious hum, and at almost the same instant felt something strike him a stinging blow on the ear. Before he could so much as raise his hand to investigate, another pierced his shoulder. Then a broadside swept his entire body.
The other members of the party were at a loss to account for his strange actions, other than by the hypothesis that he had been seized with sudden insanity; for, with an unearthly yell, he leaped into the air swinging his arms and legs like the wings of an ungainly windmill, and landed, after a short but successful flight, far out in the water.
As he came to the surface he took up the yell where he had left off and again began the windmill motions to the accompaniment of incoherent profanity. Then he went down again. By this time his strange conduct was perfectly understood by his companions, for they had themselves been attacked by the same insidious foe. A swarm of yellow-jacket hornets, proverbially mad, had descended upon them without apparent provocation, and wholly without warning.
As soon as the wily yellowjackets discovered that their prey was in the water, they hovered about over the surface, striking at everything that came up. And while mankind is, in a limited way, amphibious, surely he makes no claim of extensive submarine ability. This fact the murderous hordes seemed to have taken into consideration in carrying out their attack.
By painful stages the victims worked their way downstream until they were out of range. Then they dragged themselves up on the bank and started what looked like a cartoon of a mud-slinging campaign. To an idle passerby a group of full grown human beings with their heads and often their bodies completely poulticed in black mud would have been an amusing sight. But on this occasion not so much as a suspicion of a smile crossed the face of any person present. An incipient laugh would doubtless have been punished by immediate execution.
The only observers who were not among the suffering participants were in no mood for smiles. They lay absolutely motionless back in the bushes and devoutly hoped that their labored breathingand pounding heartbeats would not be overheard. The affair had got away from them entirely. There was no telling what would happen if their part in it should be discovered.
Not until it was quite dark did the badly stung bathers dare to return for their clothes. The hornets were gone. And the languid stillness of the summer night was broken only by their grim tokens of exclamation.
Some time after the last suffering victim had dragged his weary feet down the path leading from the pool, two dark shadows cautiously emerged from the shrubbery.
"Let's beat it for home!" urged a husky voice. "If any one saw us around here they'd prob'ly kill us!"
"All right," breathed the other. "The quicker the better!"
"Do you s'pose any one ever did die from bee-sting?"
"I'm afraid so. One feller said if he didn't die before mornin' he might have one chance in a hundred—"
Next day Sube's face blanched with fear as he saw the undertaker's wagon pass the house in the direction of the Unionville Mill. When the fearsome news was broken to Gizzard he presented a ray of hope.
"I ast my dad last night if anybody ever died of bee-sting and he said he never heard of any; but he said if a person got enough of 'em he couldn't see why they wouldn't kill just like a charge of birdshot."
"Does he know about everybody that dies in the whole world?" asked Sube incredulously.
"Maybe not all of 'em; but he knows about a good many."
At this point in the discussion Biscuit arrived, and with him came a brilliant idea to Sube.
"How good do you know Hi Wilbur, Biscuit?" he asked.
"How good! Say! He used to work for us!"
"Bet you don't know 'im good enough to nail 'im for a ride when he comes along!" challenged Sube.
"Oh! Don't I! Don't I, now! Well, you just watch me!Watchme! I'll show you if I do or not!" howled Biscuit.
"Well," said Sube, "he jus' went down the street, and when he comes back pretty quick we'll watch you all right!"
"Huh! You watch me!Watchme!"
"Well," taunted Sube, "when you're ridin' with'im and we're watchin' you, I'll bet you dassent ask him who's dead down the street—Here he comes now! Get on the job, Biscuit! We're watchin'!"
As the undertaker's service wagon approached with Hi on the lofty seat, Biscuit ran out in the road and hailed him. The team was instantly brought to a standstill and Biscuit clambered aboard.
"Fooled you, didn't he?" jeered Gizzard.
"Not on your life he didn't!" retorted Sube. "When he comes back and tells us who's dead you'll see that I fooled—Look!—He's gettin' down!"
Biscuit came running back to them triumphantly. "Ha-ha! What'd I tell you—!"
"Who's dead?" interrupted Sube.
"Nobody but ol' Miss Stebbins," replied Biscuit. "But I got some'pm better'n that to tell you!"
Sube and Gizzard waited in breathless suspense until Biscuit should speak. There was no telling what it might be.
"They've took Seth Bissett back to prison—!"
"What's that!" cried Sube and Gizzard in a chorus.
"Yessir! The payroll officer came this mornin' and found Seth's face all blotchy 'cause he'd been on two or three drunks lately, and the officer said therewas a lot of complaints against 'im, so he took 'im back to prison!"
"Did they take 'im jus' cause his face was all broke out?" asked Sube weakly.
"Oh, my no!" replied Biscuit. "Hi says he's been drunk every night for a month, hollerin' round and bustin' windows and all like that!"
"Hear that, Gizzard, ol' sock!" cried Sube, lustily thumping Gizzard on the chest. "Hear what he said!"
For an answer Gizzard returned a jovial body-blow, after which the two boys clinched and went down rolling over and over in the exuberance of their spirits.
The gang was hastily assembled for a swim, and soon with unrestrained shouts of joy they were tearing along the narrow path, undressing as they went. Sube was the first one in the water. As he came to the surface his companions thought they detected a peculiar expression on his face, but they threw themselves into the pool without stopping to investigate. Then they were sorry. For the pool was unspeakably polluted.
They hurriedly dragged themselves out on the bank, making faces expressive of disgust and disappointment. Sube was the first to speak.
"It's all off for this year!" he growled. "We might jus' well go up to the spring and wash this smelly ol' water off'm us. That rotten ol' pickle factory's opened up—"
"Pickle factory?" asked Biscuit. "What's the pickle factory got to do with it?"
"Why, they'll be dumpin' their ol' smelly brine in the creek from now until next winter!... And jus' when we'd got the hole to ourselves, too!"
Vacation vanished. School opened. Another year of education loomed up before Sube like an impassable mountain. The weather began to give hints of an approaching winter. Except on rare occasions the evenings were spent indoors. These occasions were usually devoted to attendance at the opera where the Kings and Queens of Filmdom could be seen for the trifling sum of five cents or the one-half part of a dime.
And always—with one exception—these evenings at the movies were the result of earnest solicitation on the part of the boys. The exception was noted on a certain Friday evening when Mrs. Cane had planned to open her parlors for a lecture of the Mothers' Club.
As the Cane family was about to rise from the supper table on that memorable evening, Mrs. Cane announced that she had arranged a pleasant surprise for the boys. Whereupon she distributedlargess to the extent of a nickel apiece and told them that as an experiment she had decided to permit them to go just this once unattended to the Theatorium.
If she had let them remain at home they would have paid scant attention to the Mothers' Club; but the moment she showed a desire to be rid of their presence she aroused Sube's suspicions.
"What don't you want us round home for?" he asked as he pocketed his nickel.
"Oh, it isn't that I don't want you here, dears," she replied; "but I knew this dry old lecture wouldn't interest you at all."
But Sube was not so easily disposed of. "What's it about?" he asked casually.
"Nothing that you would care to hear—the proper discipline of children or something of that sort," returned his mother hurriedly. "Run along now, boys; mother's very busy. You may stay to see the pictures through twice if you'll be very quiet and behave like gentlemen. And Henry, you take good care of Sim. Remember he's a little boy—"
Before starting for the Theatorium, Sube slipped out in the back yard and made a thorough though futile search for evidences of ice-cream. But for some reason this did not satisfy him; when once his suspicions were aroused it was very difficult to allaythem. All through the first show he was pondering over his mother's unprecedented conduct. He felt sure there was some ulterior motive.
During the intermission Sube announced that he was going to try the seats further back.
"I know I can't see so good," he explained, "but my neck kinda hurts from bending it up so far."
"My neck don't hurt," declared Cathead. "I'll stay here."
"My neck don't hurt," echoed Sim. "I'll stay here too."
None of the other youthful occupants of the bald-headed row was willing to exchange front seats for rear, so Sube was forced to try the experiment alone. This was as he had anticipated and desired, for he had deep-laid plans which could best be carried out by himself. As soon as the second show was under way he slipped out of the theater and started for home, gliding silently from tree to tree with a skill that had been acquired by long continued study of the methods of Old Sleuth.
He reached the parlor window just too late to hear the last of a group of Spanish chansonettes rendered in the original tongue by Miss Netta Podger, who had spent the summer abroad. This was unfortunate for Sube, as foreign languages always interested him.
When the applause evoked by Miss Podger's artistry had died away into random coughings and throat-clearings, Sube heard the president of the Mothers' Club struggling to give expression to the pleasure she took in introducing the exceedingly reverend J. Mills Mossman, D.D., who, she said, would deliver this evening his famous lecture entitled, "Moral Suasion; or Spare the Rod and Save the Child." Under cover of the burst of applause which greeted this announcement Sube scrambled up and seated himself precariously on the window sill. Of course he wanted to see as well as hear.
He understood that Dr. Mossman was the new Baptist minister. He had seen the much-discussed gentleman on the street once or twice, but rumors of football prowess and heavyweight championships during college days had aroused in Sube a curiosity to look him over at closer range.
As Dr. Mossman began to speak Sube pressed his face against the shutters and peered in. He found himself perilously near the doctor's large left ear. Then he noted the enormous size of the white but muscular hands, little dreaming that hewould ever fall into them. But his attention was not long held by the speaker's personal appearance, for Sube was electrified by what he was saying.
He began to comprehend at once why his mother had not wanted him to hear the lecture. He felt outraged at the thought that she should thus seek to restrict his education, and stunt his mental and spiritual growth. He was converted to "Moral Persuasion" on first sight, and made up his mind to affiliate himself with their organization at the earliest opportunity.
When Dr. Mossman waggishly declared that the hairbrush should be used solely for arranging one's locks, and that the good old slipper should be devoted exclusively to the humble task of comforting tired feet, Sube joined heartily in the laugh that followed. And when the good doctor concluded his lecture with the impassioned statement that "willfully inflicted pain never improved anything!" Sube participated so enthusiastically in the applause that he lost his balance and fell to the ground, taking with him the greater part of his father's cherished ivy.
For an instant he was dazed. He could not seem to comprehend where he was. Then he recovered his bearings and hurried back to the Theatorium. As he reached the lobby the doors swung open andthe crowd began to emerge. Cathead and Sim were among the last to come out.
"How's your neck?" asked Cathead as he approached Sube, who stood looking at a poster of the next day's bill.
"My neck?" asked Sube, momentarily off his guard. "Who said an'thing—Oh! myneck! Oh, yes; my neck is fine! It was all right jus' as soon as I sat in the back seat a little while." He gave his head a few experimental twists, and then added in confirmation: "Yup, it's all right."
The hour was late when the theatergoers reached home. The last guest had departed, and their father was unamiably engaged in carrying out the folding chairs, which had been donated for the occasion by the local undertakers, and piling them on the front porch.
The boys, preferring almost anything to going to bed, offered their assistance, which their father rather reluctantly declined. Cathead dallied, asking numerous questions about the lecture, but Sube trudged off to bed without a word.
The following day a cold rain kept the boys indoors. Throughout the morning frequent observations were made, but no cheering patch of blue large enough to make the mythical Dutchman's breechescould be seen. Although the rain began before seven it failed to stop before 'leven. In fact, it was three o'clock before it let up at all.
By lunch time the boys had resigned themselves to the weather, and with the aid of the telephone had succeeded in interesting Gizzard and Cottontop in the "gym" that had sprung into being in the upper story of the barn.
The earlier part of the afternoon was spent by the four boys in improving the equipment of the gym and in demonstrating their abilities as death-defying athletes. It was the performance by Sube of a feat called the "muscle-grinder or Hindu punishment" that really started the trouble, for it threw him into a state of perspiration which caused him to remark that he would enjoy taking a swim.
"I guess you wouldn't find the water pretty cold!" suggested the practical Gizzard. "Oh, no!"
"But s'posin' we had it fixed so's it would be warm! S'posin' we had a little shack built right over the swimmin'-hole!"
"Water'd be cold jus' samee!"
"But I cans'poseit would be warm, can't I? I can s'pose anything, can't I? I can s'pose boilin' ice-water if I want to, can't I?"
"You can s'pose it," admitted Gizzard grudgingly, "but that won't make it so. Who'd want boilin' ice-water, anyway?"
"But jus' s'posin' we had a place fixed like that," continued Sube quite unperturbed. "I'd take a swim every day in the year. And when I'm a man I'm goin' to have a swimmin'-hole made right in my own house, and then I can go in whenever I want to!"
"You'd oughta be a Baptis'," suggested Gizzard.
"What's bein' a Baptis' got to do with goin' in swimmin'?" asked Sube cautiously.
"Why,they'vegot a swimmin'-hole right inside their church!" declared Gizzard with an air of omniscient loftiness.
"A swimmin'-hole in the Baptis' Church!" howled Sube derisively. "You make me laugh! Say, Giz, who's been stringin' you?"
"Nobody ain't been stringin' me," defended Gizzard stoutly. "Jus' shows you don't know much! There's one there, 'cause my dad painted it jus' last week with two coats of white 'namel and—"
"What in the dickens would they have a swimmin'-hole in a church for? Jus' tell me that!" demanded Sube conclusively.
"To bap-tizepeople!" replied Gizzard, apparently greatly bored at this display of ignorance. "Didn't you know the Baptis'es don't jus' squirt a little water on a baby's bean? They let 'em grow up and then duck 'em all over."
Sube had a vague recollection of something of the sort, but his interest in the matter was material rather than doctrinal. "How big is this wonderful swimmin'-hole?" he asked guardedly.
"Big enough to swim in, all right," Gizzard assured him.
"Where do they keep it?" Sube was feeling his way carefully, fearing a hoax of some sort.
"It's down under the minister's desk," Gizzard told him with an air of vast importance. "You can't see it when you go in the church, but all you got to do is press a little button, andBingo!—There's your swimmin'-hole!" A sort of "Behold!—" movement of the hand accompanied this exposition.
Sube was torn between belief and skepticism. He hoped that what Gizzard was telling him was the truth. But the appearance of secret places at the pressing of buttons was associated in his mind with hip-pocket literature, rather than with the House of God. However, Gizzard's responses to his persistent questioning were so earnest and so convincingthat Sube had just about concluded to become a Baptist, when Gizzard chanced to remark that he knew what the mysterious indoor pool was called.
"What?" asked the others in a chorus.
"My dad says they call it 'mershum,'" was the lofty response.