A ray of light came over Mr. Cane's stern visage as he asked, "You weren't playing garbage-man, were you?"

"No! sir!" exclaimed Sube with a look of outraged innocence.

"Where else did you play?" asked his father.

"Where else?--Why--out in the street."

"Well, where else?"

"Over on the back street."

"Well," Mr. Cane was glowering now, "where else?"

"Over on the other street by the coalyard."

"And what game were you playing in all these different streets?"

demanded the inquisitor who was now showing signs of irritation.

"Oh, different games. First we'd play one game awhile, and then another--"

"You weren't playing sewer inspector, were you?"

"No, sir," muttered the boy as he made a mental note of two games he had never tried, but would at the first opportunity.

"Haven't you any idea where you got into this unspeakable effluvium?"

demanded his father with ill-restrained petulance.

"No, sir; not unless I might of got it up by the church. I was playin'

round up there part of the time, and I noticed some'pm smelled kind o'

funny, but I couldn't find out--"

"All right. Go on. Get the stuff off from you if you can--but don't come in here again to-night!"

Sube moved on to the bathroom, where he found that his mother had drawn a bowl of hot water into which she had put a generous quant.i.ty of ammonia and a scrubbing-brush. But after superintending the operation for a short time from a point over near the window, she retired, leaving Sube to his own devices. As soon as she was gone he let out the ammonia water on the ground that it interfered with his breathing, and hurriedly rinsing his hands in plain cold water wiped them on the bath mat (as his father afterward discovered) and slipped down the back stairs to rejoin his companions in the yard for a good ol' game of rat tail.

CHAPTER XVIII

OF HOLY WRIT

The following day Sube Cane made a pleasing discovery. He was strolling along the back street that bordered his father's garden when he was confronted by a vision of gorgeous beauty. He halted in amazement.

"Well, I'll be jiggled!" he gasped ecstatically. "I'd like to know when they put that up! It wasn't there this morning. There was nuthin' but a lot of patent med'cine ads."

And he gazed in rapture at the colorful announcement of the coming of Baylum & Barney's Greatest Show on Earth. At first a lady in fleshings doing a toe-dance on the back of a pinto percheron held his attention, but he was soon won from her by the Human Fly, who was depicted as in the act of walking on the ceiling. And it was not long before the Human Fly gave way to the Only Genuine Blood-Sweating Behemoth of Holy Writ Now in Captivity. Then Sube truly lost his heart.

The longer he gazed at the behemoth the more he admired it. It was, indeed, a case of love at first sight. Under his fascinated scrutiny the shifty eyes became kind; the broad ugly nose and cavernous mouth seemed to smile at him; the wrinkled hide looked as soft as a baby's skin. How he would have liked one for a pet!

In his mind as he stood there a definite idea a.s.sumed form; he would never be a lawyer when he grew up. Nothing short of a showman could satisfy him now. The thought of attending his own show every day was enticing. The informality of the circus life appealed to him. There would be no dining table to keep his elbows off from; no napkin to fold up. When he got hungry he would simply help himself to a few gla.s.ses of red lemonade and all the hot dogs he wanted, and no time would be wasted waiting for other people to be served. And when he led the parade, no common milk-white horses for him; he would train and drive a pair of good ol' blood-sweaters!

Then another idea struck him; a big one. Why not begin the business at once! He realized that for a time, at least, he would have to be hampered by living in a house and eating at a table; but there was nothing to prevent his starting his show in a small way. A third inspiration showed him how he could obtain a behemoth for immediate use. And by the time he had reached home his plans were well under way.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"Dad," he asked as he sauntered into the library a little later, "where is Holy Writ?"

"Where is _what_?" 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 t.i.tle--"the Bible," he mumbled.

"What's that?" asked Mr. Cane petulantly. "Speak so a person can understand you! Don't mumble."