Sube Cane Part 14

"Well--I cut it the last time," ventured Cathead. "It's your turn."

"Yes, but it takes about half a day to cut the ol' lawn," grumbled Sube.

"I'll bet your job won't take you half an hour. What you got to do, anyway?"

"Me? Oh, I got to thin the beets."

"Huh!--A snap!" sneered Sube, as he turned to his brother Sim, and asked: "What'd he give you?"

"Sproutin' p'tatoes," answered Sim.

"How many you got to do?"

"Two bushels."

"Nuthin' but a picnic," declared Sube. "I'm the only one that's got a _real_ job!"

After breakfast Sube repaired to the barn, where he found the lawn-mower waiting for him.

"Ha! There you are, you ol' gra.s.s-chewer, you!" he exclaimed malevolently. "Thought you'd catch me off my guard, didn't you?--Well this is the way I treat vill'uns like _you_!" He seized an oil can, and thrusting it between the blades of the lawn-mower as he would have plunged a dagger between the ribs of an enemy, he gave several vicious squirts. "There!" he cried. "Take that!--And that!"

He drew back a pace and contemplated his enemy witheringly. "'Nuff?--Oh!

Ain't you? Ain't you, now?--Well take that, then!--And that!" He gave another cruel thrust into the very vitals of the defenseless machine, and then withdrew his dripping blade. "You _will_ waylay me just inside the door of this cave, will you!--You will, will you!--I guess you won't do that again--"

"Who you talkin' to?" came a voice at the door.

Sube jumped back, ready for another antagonist, as Cathead entered.

"Oh! It's you, is it?" asked Sube, about equally divided between relief and confusion. "I thought it was--that it might be--that--Why, I was jus' oilin' the machine!"

But Cathead did not press the point. He had other things in view. "Say, Sube," he began at once, "If you think thinnin' the beets is such a snap job, what'll you take to do 'em?"

Sube turned on his brother with a glare as he replied: "What d'you think I am! Don't you s'pose I got enough to do for one day?"

"Oh, you got enough to do without pay; but I was goin' to pay you,"

replied Cathead evenly.

"What do you want to do to-day?" demanded Sube.

"Nuthin' much. Do you want the job, or don't you?"

"I don't know yet. What'll you gimme?"

"I'll give you a dime. And it's an awful easy way to earn a dime, too,"

a.s.serted Cathead suavely.

"I don't care so much about the money," vapored Sube; "but I'm goin' to be awful tired when I get through cuttin' the lawn."

"Well, if you don't care about the money, what do you care about?"

demanded Cathead.

And suddenly Sube remembered all the valuable property he had parted with in order to get a much-needed haircut, and that Cathead had steadfastly refused to be treated like an "uncle," but had insisted that he had bought everything outright.

"Let's see," muttered Sube; "you still got my automatic?"

This high-sounding weapon was an antique revolver with the cylinder missing, but it was the apple of his eye.

"Why, yes," agreed Cathead. "I'll give you that."

"And my billiard ball?" added Sube.

Cathead had very little use for this misshapen trophy of the fire in the People's Pool Parlor, and readily included it. And one by one Sube enumerated all the things of which he had previously been mulcted, and they all came back to him. Then Cathead took his fish-pole and hurried off to join Cottontop Sigsbee for a day's sport with the finny family.

A few moments later, as Sube was trundling the lawn-mower out of the barn door he was hailed by Sim.

"What you want?" asked Sube a little bit peevishly.

"I wanta talk to you a minute," replied Sim with a nervous laugh. "You see, I was jus' down lookin' at those p'tatoes, and, now--you know--now--you know I had to sprout a couple of bushels--"

Sim was at a loss for the words to express the desired meaning most effectively.

"What of it?" grunted Sube. "Are you through?"

"I should say I ain't!" cried Sim. "Why, I ain't started yet!"

"You better get busy, then," advised Sube as he started on with the mower.

"Wait a min-ute! Can't you?" cried Sim.

"I got work to do," a.s.serted Sube as he brought the mower to a standstill. "If you got an'thing to say to me, make it snappy."

"That's what I'm tryin' to do," whined Sim, "if you'll only hold your horses long enough. Now--now I got a sore hand, and now--I can't sprout p'tatoes very good; and now--what'll you take to sprout 'em?"

Sube glanced at his brother sharply. "Where you wanta go to-day?" he demanded.

Sim squirmed uneasily as he scrutinized the palm of his injured hand, looking in vain for something that even remotely resembled a sore spot, and digging diligently with his thumbnail in the hope of unearthing one.

"Nowheres much," he replied finally.

"All right then! What you yappin' about? Go on back and do your work,"

advised Sube as he made a move to proceed with the lawn-mower.

"Aw, wait a min-ute! Can't you? Give a feller a chance to say some'pm!

Can't you?"

"Well?" Sube rested on his lawn-mower expectantly.

"Now--now Ted Horner's comin' for me at ha'past nine to see--now--to see if I can--now--can go out to their farm to spend the day."

"Well?"