Sube Cane Part 3

Miss Lester.

Somebody who knows something importent will be at the prebsytearean church front steps Saterday night at nine oclock if you whisper suffer littel childern they will know its you.

your trully

Two Freinds

When he had finished reading it he pa.s.sed to Mr. Cane. The lawyer compared it with the other letter. "Huh!" he snorted. "Identical! Same person wrote both of them! It's nothing but a dastardly hoax!"

The sheriff said nothing, and began to fumble in the drawers of his desk while Mr. Cane and Miss Lester were exchanging apologies and reestablishing friendly relations. At length he turned around in his swivel-chair and announced:

"It may be a hoax, all right; but I've got other evidence against this here party."

"Evidence against _me_!" gasped Miss Lester.

The sheriff nodded gravely and consulted several crumpled sheets of paper he held in his hand. They were the pages torn from the Boon for Baldness diary.

"Ain't you took a lot of int'rest in this here foundling?" he asked suspiciously.

"Indeed I have!" she responded with spirit.

"Went to see it las' Monday, didn't y'u?"

"I believe I did. I went there the moment I heard about it."

"Went again Tuesday, didn't y'u?"

"Why, I presume--"

"And y'u bought a bottle of something at Westfall's drug store Tuesday afternoon, didn't y'u?"

Miss Lester blushed uncomfortably. "I cannot see what possible connection my going to the drug store could have with this matter," she parried.

"Well, anyhow, y'u went to see this here child again on Wednesday, didn't y'u?" the sheriff persisted.

"Mr. Sheriff," Miss Lester burst forth at last, "you do not seem to understand my position at all. I want to adopt the little darling. I haven't a chick or child in the world that belongs to me. I have been trying to find her parents for days so as to get their consent. That was why I went to the church this evening. When I found the note I had hopes that the mother had in some way learned of my interest in the baby and wanted to talk to me about her. Oh, I am so disappointed! Who could have been cruel enough to do such a thing for a _joke_?"

The sheriff succ.u.mbed as gracefully as possible and allowed that he had been "barkin' up the wrong tree." As he tossed the crumpled sheets on the table, Mr. Cane picked them up.

"You didn't tell me about these, Sheriff," he said. "Where did they come from?"

"They come by mail late this afternoon," the sheriff replied. "I thought I told you about it."

"Hum,-- Same handwriting as the letters," observed the lawyer as he ran through the littered pages. "Our 'Two Friends' wanted to be sure that their hoax was going to work--"

He stopped abruptly and sniffed at the crumpled pages with an expression of mistrust--of something reminiscent. And suddenly, with an unintelligible exclamation, he caught up his hat and started for the door.

"Wait a minute, Judge," invited the sheriff affably. "I'll send you folks home in an auto."

"Can't wait!" called Mr. Cane over his shoulder. "An automobile couldn't get me there fast enough!"

Mr. Cane lost no time in getting home. But Sube was there ahead of him, and already in bed and apparently asleep.

CHAPTER III

THE LAST SAD RITES

When Sube accompanied his family to church on the morrow he was conspicuous by reason of his scentlessness. n.o.body sniffed at him; n.o.body moved away from him; his brothers walked uncomplainingly at his side. Any one but Sube might have thought that the storm which descended on him the previous night shortly after he had slipped into bed with his clothes on, must have clarified the atmosphere completely. For Mr. Cane had done very thoroughly that which is claimed to hurt the parent more than the child.

But Sube was uneasy. And he had reason to be; for Miss Lester was his Sunday School teacher.

A dark pall hung over him all through the church service; and when at the conclusion he sought to bring up reinforcements before moving on Sunday School, he learned to his dismay that Gizzard was confined to his home with a slight attack of Sunday-sickness from which he was unlikely to recover until nearly dinner time. So he faced the dragon alone.

But in common with other dragons Miss Lester's terrors waned on closer acquaintance. As he shuffled guiltily into his seat she wished him a pleasant good morning. But some little time elapsed before Sube could bring himself to believe that his sense of hearing was not playing him false. Then it occurred to him that she was going to arraign him before the entire Sunday School. And he lived over this volcano until the session was dismissed. The possibility that Miss Lester did not know the ident.i.ty of her "Two Friends" never entered his mind.

Once or twice during the afternoon he wondered vaguely why she had refrained from "bawling him out," but by the next day he had forgotten all about Miss Lester and her troubles. They were completely blotted out of his mind by the relentless pressure of education; for school had begun again.

One day dragged along after another. At last a week had gone. Then a month. And spring was pretty well under way when Sube came home from school one noon, to all appearances quite bowed down with grief. Mag Macdougall, the family laundress, was dead.

The news was fittingly broken to those at the table, but seemed to occasion no great concern. His father remarked in what Sube considered a most unfeeling way that he hoped she hadn't taken with her the two shirts that failed to come back with his linen that week; and his mother's only comment was that she had decided to send the things to the laundry anyway.

Sube was shocked; but he was not discouraged. He took the position that the community's great loss was not fully appreciated, and at once launched into a eulogy of Mag's imaginary virtues that gave to her a character quite unlike that which she had borne in the flesh. And in conclusion he announced that the funeral would take place that afternoon at the Baptist Church, to which he felt he must go on account of poor little Lizzie Macdougall's being in the same room with him at school.

And although Mr. Cane cultivated the att.i.tude of always expecting the unexpected to happen, this came as something of a surprise to him. For a moment he was at a loss for words; then he had more than he knew what to do with, out of which Sube managed to grasp the sentiment that any old day when he was allowed to remain out of school to attend one of Mag Macdougall's funerals would of necessity be a very cold one. And this was a warm spring day.

Sube remonstrated. He whined. He argued until his father forbade another word on the subject. Then in a highly rebellious and dangerous state of mind he started for school, brooding anarchistically over the element of paternalism that still survives in the American family. He would have been an easy convert for any kind of soap-box heresy, but fortunately no apostles of new thought chanced to cross his path.

However, when he had gone a short distance on his way he discovered that he was being followed. A rather rangy dog with a white background heavily sprinkled with black spots, and wearing a thick, stumpy tail which a railroad train had thoughtlessly docked to half-length, was sauntering along at a safe distance behind, apparently making no effort to get any nearer.

Sube whirled angrily, and catching up an imaginary rock went through most elaborate motions of hurling it at the dog, as he cried in a stern voice:

"Go home, Sport! Go home!"

Sport halted and began to sniff calmly at a tuft of gra.s.s beside the walk as if that had been his sole errand. He affected to be unaware of his master's presence. After sniffing for a moment he deemed the place worthy of excavation and began to scratch at it with his front paw.

Meanwhile Sube's orders had become more curt and angry. "Go home! I tell you!--Go home, sir!" he bellowed as he pretended to run at the dog, stamping his feet loudly on the walk.

But Sport calmly continued his investigations.

Then Sube caught sight of a real stone, and eagerly bent to pick it up; but before he could steady himself so as to throw it with any kind of aim, Sport beat a hasty retreat homeward, and the stone went clattering down the walk wide of its mark.

Having thus disposed of the dog Sube proceeded on his way with the thought that Sport must be losing his mind when he couldn't tell a school day from any other day. But Sport was far from losing his mind. A certain psychic agency called instinct by uncomprehending humans had told him that for Sube this was not to be a school day; but Sport realized that he could never hope to get this through the dull brain of an ordinary boy, so he made no attempt.