At the first corner Sube fell in with a company of his fellows bound for the cobble-stone church to pay their last sad respects to the mortal remains of Mag Macdougall, deceased. He would have avoided them if he could, but they were upon him before he was aware of their presence.

"Hey, Sube!" shouted Gizzard as he caught sight of his chum. "Goin'?"

This was somewhat awkward, but Sube managed to a.s.sume a look of bold confidence as he replied, "What do you _s'pose_?"

"I s'pose you are," returned Gizzard. "Everybody is. _All_ the girls are goin', and even Biscuit Westfall!"

Sube was lost. This was the limit of human endurance. He might have stood it even if all the girls did go; but he had counted on Biscuit Westfall as the one person absolutely certain to be in his seat at school. And besides, the groundless suspicion was never wholly absent from Sube's mind that as far as Nancy Guilford was concerned, Biscuit needed watching. Then a voice came to him from the crowd almost as if the speaker had read his mind. It was unnecessarily high and nasal in quality.

"Nancy Guilford's goin'!"

Sube turned and glared into the grinning face of d.i.c.k Bissell, a tattered youth of questionable pedigree, who stood head and shoulders above the other boys, and who was no respecter of size so long as it was smaller than his. But immediately upon identifying d.i.c.k Bissell as the author of the gibe, Sube's glare melted into a sheepish grin, and he himself melted into the crowd and became as inconspicuous as possible.

He was distinctly relieved when a moment later a concerted movement towards the church began. At his side walked the faithful Gizzard, who, after they had gone a short distance, asked:

"What you so mum about?"

"Who? Me?" grunted Sube. "How you want a feller to act when he's goin'

to a funeral?"

The truth was that in addition to the humiliation put upon him by d.i.c.k Bissell, Sube was feeling a little lonely in his outlawry. The other boys doing exactly what he was doing were guiltless. But he was a criminal. He alone must be on the watch for tattle-tales, must run the risk of punishment. On the whole he was in an excellent frame of mind to get the most out of a funeral.

As the company reached the church it deployed and spread itself over the s.p.a.cious stone steps that reached across the front of the edifice. It was still occupying this position when Biscuit Westfall, at the side of his mother, approached and, raising his hat formally to the collective company, pa.s.sed inside.

After a little interval the girls arrived and with a shy giggle or two hurried up the steps and disappeared through the ma.s.sive doorway.

Whereupon d.i.c.k Bissell took occasion to stroll over to Sube and suggest that if he was going to sit with the girls he'd better be going inside.

Sube indulged in another of his sickly smiles, which for a boy of his spirit required no small amount of effort. But at that moment the cortege arrived and dissipated any insane notions of self-destruction that might have been forming in his outraged brain.

The boys followed the casket into the church in much the same manner as they would have followed the band in a street parade, but instead of going all the way to the altar they slipped into the rear seats, where they stayed just long enough to find out that a funeral was not at all unlike church. Then by twos and threes they began to desert.

When a sufficient number had a.s.sembled in front of the church a quiet game of tag was proposed, to while away the time until they should be permitted to view the remains. And they at once proceeded to the nearby church-sheds as a place marvelously adapted to the sport.

The game was less quiet than had been antic.i.p.ated, and after a little actually threatened to put the funeral out of business. Whereupon ol'

Joe, the s.e.xton, hastily forming an alliance with big Lew Wright, rushed out to disperse the noise-makers. Big Lew was an elder or deacon or something whenever anything of importance was taking place at the Baptist Church, and at other times he ran a sawmill. He enjoyed the reputation of handling logs and boys in much the same rough manner; and he scattered the partic.i.p.ants in the game as he would have brushed away a handful of sawdust.

The gang was withdrawing silently, albeit sullenly, when without warning there came flying over the sheds a large chunk of sod to which a quant.i.ty of soil was clinging. This disrespectful offering struck big Lew in the place where his ready made necktie connected with his rubber collar, forcing from his mouth a noise that sounded very much like profanity.

Sube did not throw the sod, but he saw it strike; and he knew instantly that was no place for him. In a desperate attempt to make a quick getaway he fell down. And when he regained his feet the angry elder or deacon or something was upon him. But somehow he managed to wriggle through a hole in the fence inches smaller than his body and started for the lumber yard nearby with big Lew, who nimbly scaled the fence, close behind.

Somewhere among the piles of lumber Sube shook off his pursuer. Then he crossed the railroad tracks by crawling under a slowly moving freight train and finally reached a place of safety in a clump of willows behind the sauerkraut factory, but not until he had left a fair impression of his body in a puddle of slippery brine that had been drawn from a vat of ancient kraut.

As he entered the refugee camp a moment later he was hailed with delight. But his popularity was short-lived. The boys were sorry about his accident, but had a peculiar way of showing it. They stopped bemoaning the fact that they had not been able to view the remains, and began to comfort Sube with bits of pithy humor, meanwhile keeping him at a distance. Sube took this in good part until d.i.c.k Bissell suggested that it might be interesting if Sube should go to the church in his present state and ask to see Nancy home.

Sube scowled; he blushed; he bit his lips, and clenched his fists; but once more d.i.c.k Bissell's size and reputation won a psychological victory, and Sube managed to produce the sheepish grin--and the crisis was over.

Excited hoofbeats on the floor of the nearby livery barn now attracted the boys' attention. These were followed by such sounds as men utter when they wish to calm the ruffled spirits of a restive horse.

d.i.c.k leaped to his feet. "Hey!" he cried. "There's some'pm doin' in the liv'ry barn! I'm goin' up and see the fun!"

He started forthwith, the others trailing after him. Far in the rear came Sube, humiliated and indignant at what had happened, and apprehensive about what would happen when he reached home. The liniment episode was still strong in his memory; and to become involved in another affair of bad odor so soon afterwards seemed to him like trifling with Providence. Sube clambered slowly up the bank and walked into the livery barn. It was as d.i.c.k Bissell had suspected. Something was doing. An undersized bay mare was receiving her spring haircut.

Sube's brother Sim would have recognized at a glance that it was Fretful Mollie; for he knew every horse in town by its first name, and most of the horses knew Sim. But Sube was no horseman. He could tell the difference between a horse and an automobile; he could probably have picked a horse from a herd of cows ninety-nine times out of a hundred.

But he was no lover of horseflesh.

As he stood watching Mollie tremble and plunge whenever the clippers touched a ticklish spot, he became conscious of a movement at the door of the barn, and glancing around he beheld Sport. Sube was astonished, for he had supposed that the dog was safe at home. But Sport had been following him all the afternoon; never very far behind, and for obvious reasons never very conspicuous.

When Sport perceived that his presence had been detected he tried to make the best of a bad situation. He pretended that their meeting was the merest sort of coincidence; that he had come there strictly on business of his own, but was none the less glad to see his master.

However, human like, Sube misunderstood all this; and pointing an automatic finger at the dog, muttered:

"Didn't I tell you to go _home_?"

Sport fled. And as he went scurrying down the alley he was kept busy dodging several sticks, a tin can, and one or two old shoes.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER IV

AN INTERRUPTED HAIRCUT

While Sube was disposing of his insubordinate follower Fretful Mollie had obtained momentary control over her tingling nerves and become perfectly quiet. But as he returned to her side she gave a tremendous lunge and struck out savagely with both hind feet, scattering the tonsorial artists right and left.

As the clipper-man leaped to a place of safety, his clippers still in his hand, he grabbed Sube roughly by the coat-collar.

"I caught y'u that time, y'u little rascal!" he cried angrily.

Sube squirmed uncomfortably. "What'd I do?" he muttered. "I ain't done a _thing_!"

The clipper-man s.n.a.t.c.hed off Sube's cap and gave it a throw as he charged, "Y'u slung some'pm at that mare. I seen y'u do it myself."

Seeing that the crime was neatly fastened on Sube, d.i.c.k Bissell, who had been keeping discreetly close to the door, now drew nearer. If anybody was to be punished for his misdeeds he wanted to be in the front row. He antic.i.p.ated that Sube would receive a sound cuffing and perhaps a kick or two; but he was as much surprised as Sube at the form his punishment took. For without the slightest warning the clipper-man mowed a clean swath from Sube's brow to his crown, and giving him a vigorous shove towards the open door, admonished him to get out and stay out under pain of having his eyebrows cut off.

As Sube recovered his balance he paused, and pa.s.sed a bewildered hand over his head. He resembled nothing quite so much as a youth grown prematurely bald. And at the risk of losing his eyebrows he turned and faced his a.s.sailant.

"Ain't you goin' to cut the rest of it?" he asked huskily.

"Didn't I tell y'u to get outa here?" growled the clipper-man with a menacing gesture.

But Sube stood his ground. "I didn't do a thing to your ol' horse!" he cried desperately.

"Well, one o' yer gang done it, and that's the same thing!" muttered the clipper-man, supplementing his questionable logic by unquestionable profanity.

At this point d.i.c.k Bissell undertook to interject some of his humor into the situation.