Sube Cane Part 44

"Not buch I didn't!" returned Sube. "Bud we G.o.dt a bystery over to our house."

"A mystery? What is it?"

"By bother found the Baptis' bidister's overcoat hangin' in our frondt hall last dight, and dobody in the house could tell her how it G.o.dt there!" Sube punched the grinning Gizzard jovially in the stomach as he continued, "She hadt me take it to him, but he didn't know how it G.o.dt there either!"

"We got a mystery over to my house, too!" howled Gizzard. "My mother's been tryin' to figger out how I could lose off my unders.h.i.+rt and one stockin' without knowin' it!"

When they had sufficiently calmed down the boys pa.s.sed into Sunday School, winking knowingly whenever their eyes chanced to meet.

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE TIMBER CRUISER

Jealousy is about as reasonable as lightning; it is fully as deadly, and often much more unexpected. And because Biscuit Westfall's mother's brother-in-law (who was a farmer with a fine woodlot) when bringing in the annual Christmas tree for Biscuit, had also brought one for Nancy Guilford's Christmas party, he had aroused Sube's groundless jealousy of Biscuit to the striking point.

Biscuit cared nothing for Nancy; he had a lady love of his own. Of course he was polite to Nancy, but he was polite to every lady. And Nancy cared nothing for Biscuit. She had found him useful in her scheme of life, and had accordingly made use of him. But she loved him not.

However, as far as the Christmas tree was concerned she was innocent of using him even as an exciter. He had offered the tree, and she had taken it.

Somewhere Sube had learned the history of the tree, and when he saw it he shook his head dubiously. "Pretty punk, isn't it?" he asked. "Is that the best you could get?"

"Uh huh, the very best," Nancy emphatically a.s.sured him.

"Why didn't you let _me_ get you a tree?" he demanded. "I'd 'ave got you one a hundred times better'n that."

"Oo--oo! Could you, honest?"

"Could I!"

"Will you do it?"

"Will I? Half a dozen if you want 'em."

Nancy a.s.sured him that one was all she could possibly use, and thereupon he obtained his ax and set out to conquer the forest. But he soon found that Biscuit's uncle Peter had spoken the truth when he said that good Christmas trees were scarce. They were; decidedly scarce. The few that had come through the dry fall without unwithered limbs had already been hewn by the early tree-hunters. And Sube was hard to please.

He had in his mind the picture of an ideal Christmas tree, and as he rejected one prospect after another, the picture became more vivid.

"You're a rusty runt," he informed an anaemic-looking pine that appeared in his path. "And you're too much like a beanpole," he told another.

"Yes, and you're lop-sided," he explained to a third; "you look like you'd had an arm cut off."

The afternoon waned. Dusk came on. To be in the woods after dark would be quite useless, so he might as well be starting for home. And still the picture of the perfect tree possessed his mind. If he could only think where it was.

Then suddenly it came to him. Why, of course! That was just where he had seen it! It wasn't exactly growing wild, but the people who inhabited the place wouldn't care. He felt quite sure about that. And anyway, it would be dark by the time he reached there.

An hour later when Nancy Guilford opened the door in response to his ring (for which she had been listening for some time) a perfect specimen of cypress greeted her delighted gaze. It was bright green, symmetrical and bushy-limbed. It was as perfect as the picture on a Christmas card.

Nancy's exclamations and gurglings of delight brought her mother to the door, with the result that Sube was invited over that evening to help trim the tree.

When he arrived some two hours later he found the gift tree mounted in a disguised soap box, and standing at one end of the parlor from which the furniture had been removed to facilitate the laying of the crash, with the entire household gathered round about offering on-lookers' advice as to the most effective way of decorating it.

This was not exactly as he had antic.i.p.ated. He had planned to arrange those details according to his own ideas and Nancy's. But somehow he managed to live through it. If, however, he had known that the Guilfords were entertaining company he would not have come. He hated to meet strangers, especially tall women dressed all in black who think they have got to talk to a fellow all the time.

When Sube was presented to Mrs. Hotchkiss-Harger he fastened his gaze on a little red spot on the crash and moved his lips deferentially, although no sound came. Observing his embarra.s.sment, Mrs.

Hotchkiss-Harger attempted to put him at his ease by the questionable method of interrogation.

"So this is the young man," she remarked in her deep voice, "to whom we are indebted for this beautiful tree?"

Sube nodded microscopically.

"It's a cypress, isn't it?" she persisted.

Again Sube's head moved slightly, although it would have taken a mind reader to translate the movement.

"Why, I had no idea that cypresses were indigenous to this part of the country. Where did you get that tree, young man?"

Sube started visibly. This was a question he was hardly prepared to answer. "Th--that tree, th--there?" he stammered in confusion. "That tree?--Why--"

Once more the success of well-handled dilatory tactics was evident; for Mrs. Hotchkiss-Harger suddenly burst into tears.

"Oh, it all comes back so clearly," she sobbed. "I went to the nursery myself--broken and crushed as I was--and selected the four dainty cypresses that were planted at the four corners of the lot where my poor dear Clarence was laid to rest. They must be just about the size of this one! I _must_ go and see them to-morrow. Why, I haven't seen those darling little trees since the day they were set out!--Oh, dear--!"

"There, there, sister," comforted Mrs. Guilford. "How could you have seen them when you have been abroad all the time? They've had the best of care, and they were looking be-autiful the last time I saw them--"

"Ah, yes, I stayed away that I might learn to forget!" moaned Mrs.

Hotchkiss-Harger between huge convulsive sobs. "But how the old grief closes in on me the moment I return. Oh, I must go to the cemetery to-morrow!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "MY FATHER GOT IT FOR ME"]

"Oh, I don't believe I'd go on the day before Christmas," Mrs. Guilford advised gently.

"I must!--I must!--I can't wait a moment longer!"

Then with a supreme effort Mrs. Hotchkiss-Harger mastered her grief, and removing her black-bordered handkerchief from her reddened eyes, turned to Sube who had been watching her with keen interest, and said:

"You haven't yet told me where you got that tree, young man."

Sube had to swallow once or twice before he managed to mumble, "Don't know exackly."

"Don't know?" she demanded. "How can it be possible that you don't know?

You cut this tree yourself, did you not?"

"No, ma'am. I--"

"You didn't! Well, who did, then?"

"Ma'am? Oh,--who cut this tree?--Why,--why, my father got it for me!" he finally stammered out. "I don't know jus' where he did get it. Out in the woods somewheres, I should--"