Sube Cane Part 7

"But when a person's mind is affected ... there's no telling--" he heard Mrs. McInness saying.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "LOOK HOW HE LEFT ME!"]

After a moment came the barber's ba.s.s rumble again: "That'd be rulable if he'd been in the chair, or even in the shop waitin', but--"

This gave Sube another idea. "When my father drove me out of the house,"

he said modestly, "I did my best to satisfy him. I ran as fast as I could to the nearest barber shop--that's Bill Grayson's. Maybe it ain't exactly the nearest, but it's the quickest because I don't have to turn any corners--you know I always come to your shop if I can. Well, I got to Bill Grayson's just before six o'clock. I got in the chair and Bill started on me with the clippers; but the minute the whistles blew, he fired me right out of the chair and wouldn't finish the job! Why! Jus'

look here!" he cried dramatically, s.n.a.t.c.hing off his cap. "Look how he left me! I don't dare go home like this!"

The barber and his wife were astounded.

"Bill Grayson done that to you!" exclaimed Mr. McInness.

"Yes, sir, he did," replied Sube virtuously.

Mrs. McInness turned quickly to her husband. "There!" she challenged.

"He was in the chair at six o'clock and his hair was partly cut! You said that would be rulable yourself!"

"But he wasn't in _my_ chair, or even in _my_ shop! There's somethin'

doggone' funny about this. Just as like as not Bill Grayson has fixed a frame-up on me to get me in bad with the union. I ain't goin' to take no chances--"

"Joe McInness!" his wife bristled defiantly, "_you_ may belong to the union, but _I_ don't!--Give me the key to that shop! I'm going to finish clipping that boy's hair!"

Sube was a little late for supper, but he came in with a broad smile--broad though rather forced--and a neatly shingled head.

"Hey, everybody look at me!" he called cheerfully. "I've got the first shingle of the season, and I paid for it with my own money, too! And, mama, can I go to prayer meeting with Giz Tobin to-night? I'm all dressed for it."

Mrs. Cane had gladly given her consent when Cathead threw a bomb into the happy home circle.

"Sube wasn't at school this afternoon," he announced.

"What's that?" demanded Mr. Cane glaring at Sube. "Do you mean to say that after all I said to you--?"

Sube had begun to shrivel under his father's relentless gaze when Cathead interjected:

"But there _wasn't_ any school in _his_ room! So many of the kids went to Mag Macdougall's funeral that Miss Wheeler had to dismiss the room, didn't she, Sube?"

Sube huskily admitted that she did, while Cathead bemoaned the misfortune of his being in another room, and Mr. Cane showed signs of being relieved, although he was at the same time annoyed at Cathead's forwardness

CHAPTER VI

REIMBURs.e.m.e.nT

There was something of a sensation at the breakfast table next morning when sube appeared with his best clothes on, and without waiting for interrogation modestly explained that his school suit had been incapacitated by his futile attempt to do the household a real service.

He had arisen early and quietly taken the rake to the attic for the purpose of dragging the rainwater tank for the remains of an alleged dead cat.

He had not succeeded in locating the body, but had unfortunately lost his balance and fallen into the tank, from which he had escaped with his life only after a terrific struggle (although the tank was not over three feet deep), and he called Cathead to witness that he had carefully examined Exhibit A and found it to be a thoroughly saturated and badly polluted suit of school clothes.

"I declare!" complained Mr. Cane. "I never saw such a household as this.

No sooner do we get rid of one scourge than another is upon us.

Contaminated water is about the worst thing that can happen to a place.

There's no telling when we'll get this thing cleared up. I suppose the plumber will be round here for the next month. I might as well make him a present of the house!"

"Oh, well," soothed Mrs. Cane. "It might be worse. We'll miss the rain water, of course, but we still have the city water to fall back on."

"Yes, but who wants to use that city water?" demanded Mr. Cane. "It's as hard as a rock! It makes my hands feel chapped just to think of it."

Then turning to Sube he asked, "Didn't you find anything at all that might have made this trouble?"

Sube appeared to be searching his memory. In reality he was searching his imagination. Finally he replied, "No, sir; unless maybe it could of been that little piece of fur I found in one corner."

"There!" cried Mr. Cane. "Why didn't you tell me that before? I might have spent a hundred dollars having the plumber tear things to pieces in search of that same little piece of fur!"

"I wasn't sure," muttered Sube. "I didn't know jus' _what_ it was."

"Not sure, eh? Well what did it look like?"

"It _looked_ like a rat," Sube fabricated.

"What did you do with it?"

"Threw it on the ash pile."

"_I_ can soon tell," declared Mr. Cane.

"But an ol' cat grabbed it and carried it away," romanced Sube.

The plumber came and scrubbed the tank, the clothes went to the cleaner, and Sube proceeded to school hardened and set for the cruel grinding of another day. And he was not disappointed. Miss Wheeler was very pressing in her demands for doc.u.mentary excuses for his absence of the day before. But when Sube reached home at noon he found his father in no proper mood to frame diplomatic communications. To be exact, Mr. Cane was grouchy.

"I don't know what can be the matter with me," he complained as he took his place at the head of the table. "Do I look sick?"

Mrs. Cane made a very careful examination of his face, and noted the vigorous erectness of his body, while Sube's gaze was shifting uneasily back and forth from one parent to the other.

"You haven't looked so well in years," she declared at length. "What's the matter? Aren't you feeling well?"

"Never felt better in my life. Now I wonder what's getting into everybody."

"Why, what do you mean?" asked Mrs. Cane nervously.

"Everybody seems to think I'm sick," grumbled Mr. Cane. "Why, the thing began before I had reached my office this morning. The first person who spoke of it was Joe McInness, the barber. He stopped me on the street and asked very particularly how I was feeling to-day. I told him in an off-hand way that I was never better, and he seemed to be quite surprised. 'Why, I understood you were--were not feeling well,' he sort of stammered out.

"I laughed at him. 'Do I look sick, Joe?' I asked.

"'No, you don't _look_ bad,' he said; 'but sometimes folks look perfectly well physically when they ain't well at all in--in other ways.

And sometimes the worse off they are, the better they _think_ they are.'