Sube Cane Part 26

"Aw, we might as well wait around a few minutes," said Sube. "There's some'pm funny about this. He never acted like that before."

They had not long to wait before Biscuit was seen coming towards them on a run. In his hand he carried what looked like a small club, but proved on closer examination to be a mailing-tube. By means of a moistened finger that left Bertillon imprints wherever it touched, Biscuit extracted and unfurled before his skeptical companions the cherished roll of vegetable sheepskin.

"There!" he declared proudly. "I guess that'll prove it!"

"Di-plo-mer--" p.r.o.nounced Sube.

"Diplomer's right!" boasted the graduate. "This here's my diplomer in plain and fancy swimmin' and divin'! It was rewarded to me by the Inter-State Cor'spon'ence School of Chicago, Ill'noise."

Sube was impressed, deeply impressed; but he was not convinced. "It's a diplomer all right," he admitted; "but can you _swim_?"

"Can I _swim_? _Can_ I? Say, you jus' watch me! Watch me!"

Biscuit gaily began to make swimming motions with his hands, as he capered about.

"But I mean in the water!" insisted Sube.

"So do I!" shouted Biscuit jubilantly.

"You don't mean to say that you took lessons in the water!"

"Oh, no-o-o-o! Course not!"

"Then where'd you learn?"

"Right on top of the kitchen table! You see--"

"Never mind about that," interrupted Sube with obvious relief. "We'll go right down to the swimmin'-hole and you can show us all your little tricks."

"Wait till I take my diplomer home!"

"Better not," cautioned Sube. "You might need it when you get in the water!"

"Is that so! Well, you jus' watch me!" shouted Biscuit as he started for home with his precious possession. "_Watch_ me!"

As the boys pa.s.sed the mill on the way to the swimming-hole, Gizzard, the painter's son, doubtless with inherited instinct, spied on a window sill by the loading platform a can of black paint and a brush, of which Sube, the lawyer's son, likewise with inherited instinct, took immediate possession so they wouldn't get knocked off on the ground, as he explained to Gizzard.

Sube tarried on the bridge long enough to leave Biscuit's misshapen initials on the white hand-rail, and then pa.s.sed on to the pool, where he found most of the boys ready for the plunge, having stripped off their clothing as they walked.

Biscuit was in the throes of peeling off his undershirt, which had come so far as to envelop his head, but refused to come farther. As he struggled his bare white back arched invitingly before Sube's yearning eyes. The temptation was too strong for Sube. He yielded. And with one bold stroke of the brush he transformed the skin along Biscuit's spine from the purest Caucasian to the shiniest Senegambian.

With an angry bleat Biscuit tore off the shirt and turned on his complacent decorator. "You wipe that off'n me or I'll--!"

"Oh! Will you?--Well, all right. Turn around and I'll wipe it off." And Sube calmly dipped his brush into the paint. "Turn around, Biscuit. Turn your back to Uncle Sube!"

"Don't you put any more of that nasty stuff on me!" bellowed Biscuit.

"But, Biscuit," pleaded Sube in the soft voice of a painless dentist about to extract a molar, "we've _got_ to 'nitiate you, ain't we? Now ain't we, Biscuit?"

This conversation was designed to draw Biscuit's attention so that Gizzard might deliver a rear attack, which he did with complete success.

For, an instant later Biscuit was extended face downward on the ground and securely held by his little friends while Sube stood over him, brush in hand, ready to complete his work of art.

"Watch me closely, ladies and gent'mun," Sube declaimed with solemnity, "for I am about to confer on this can'idate the Order of the Golden Fish. This name, ladies and gent'mun, is given to this can'idate on account of his bein' a trick swimmer. He claims he can do the creep, and the bludgeon, and the shears. In our future consuls he will be called 'The Pike,' ladies and gent'mun, note the name, 'The Pike!' I will now give him the stripes that belong to him!"

He at once proceeded to do so.

Biscuit howled l.u.s.tily, but quite ineffectually. The stripes were given with extreme delicacy of handling, the body scheme following the pattern of his Patron Fish, and the legs being finished with a neat corkscrew design. When the rear exposure had been completed, the candidate was flopped over and finished in front according to the same general idea.

After some discussion his face was done in a chaste checkerboard design that was really quite effective.

The great master had just reached the ears when Cathead who was holding one of the candidate's arms, relaxed his grip somewhat in order to make a survey of the nearly finished masterpiece. In a flash Biscuit wrenched loose the arm and struck the can of paint from Sube's hand, splashing the contents over his captors as well as himself. In another flash he was free and on his feet, and making good his escape.

Sube gave chase, wiping the paint from his face as he ran. The others followed for a short distance, but were soon turned back by their modesty.

At first Sube was actuated by motives of revenge. He was going to show Biscuit that n.o.body could throw a can of paint in _his_ face with impunity. But as Biscuit reached the highway and started for home the episode a.s.sumed a different aspect. If Sube had put his thoughts in words they would have sounded something like this:

"Why, he's startin' for home!--The crazy nut!--Hear 'im holler!--He's scairt!--He's scairt to death!--He's scairt crazy!--He don't know what he is doin'!--I got to catch 'im!--What if we'd meet somebody!--What if I couldn't catch 'im!--If he should ever get to his mother!--"

The mere thought quickened Sube's pace. But at the same moment something quickened Biscuit's pace and turned on a little more noise. An automobile occupied by four young ladies came in sight. As it approached it drew out to the side of the road and stopped to watch the progress of the chase. Then it turned around and followed along like an observation train.

Pedestrians stepped aside and looked on in amazement at the strange sight, but fortunately not many were abroad.

As Biscuit came abreast of the Presbyterian Church he hesitated; and hearing his pursuer thundering along behind him, turned in, rushed up the steps, threw open the door and disappeared within, slamming the door behind him.

Sube noted this maneuver with a gasp of relief. "Now I've got 'im cornered!" he muttered approvingly as he leaped up the steps and burst into the church.

CHAPTER XVI

SANCTUARY

While these events had been taking place the members of the Coral Strand Missionary Circle were gathered at the church in solemn conclave. Mrs.

Westfall, the president, had called a special meeting to deal with events of unusual importance that had brought out the entire membership.

The circle had lately been the object of a cowardly attack from the pen of one Bill Busby, who devoted nearly a column of the valued editorial s.p.a.ce of the _Citizen_ to a whimsical commentary on foreign missions. Of course he had mentioned no names, but his poison-tipped innuendoes were too pointed to be overlooked.

On behalf of the Coral Strand Missionary Circle Mrs. Westfall had demanded a retraction of the alleged libelous statements, and an apology that should be given the same publicity as the defamatory matter.

Bill Busby had received her with extreme politeness. He had transferred his feet from the top of the desk to the seat of a chair; he had advanced his hat to the forward portion of his head; he had even gone so far as to remove his cigar from his mouth and lay it on the edge of the desk which already bore charred evidence of previous courtesies; but he refused to retract his statements. On the contrary he insisted that they were true. However, he had agreed to apologize, which he did in the next week's issue.

But Bill's apology was somewhat awkward. It appeared under the caption, _Well-meaning but Mis-informed and Misguided Philanthropists_, and sounded very much like betting the Coral Strand Missionary Circle a new hat that the $160 they had raised during the preceding year would have shriveled by the time it reached its destination until it would buy no more than $1.60 worth of shoes for the naked heathen babies.

The special meeting followed; for, regardless of the truth or falsity of Bill's charges, the cause of foreign missions had received a body-blow.

The community--never over-enthusiastic on the subject--was now equipped with a full-fledged excuse for refusing to make any further contributions. A flimsy excuse, to be sure, but the flimsier an excuse is, the better it serves its purpose.

It soon proved to be the sense of the meeting that something of a public nature must be done to recover the lost prestige of the Coral Strand Missionary Circle, and to counteract the insidious effects of "that Busby man's dastardly attack on the fair name and fame of the circle."