Sube Cane Part 8

"'Well, Joe,' I said as I started on, 'you can mark me down as sound mentally, morally and physically.'

"He looked at me and said, 'Judge, what day's to-day?'

"'Why, this is Thursday,' I said.

"'And what day of the month is it?' he asked in the strangest way. And, do you know, for the life of me I couldn't think what day of the month it was. At that, the idiot shook his head and went into his barber shop."

"That's the queerest thing I ever heard of," said Mrs. Cane. "You don't suppose he had been drinking, do you?"

"Why, I did think so until other people began to drop into the office and ask after my health. At first I was rather amused, and then it began to annoy me. The consensus of opinion seemed to be that I was afflicted with some insidious ailment that made me think I was br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with good health when I was really on my last legs. And the most incomprehensible feature of the thing was that I couldn't seem to convince them of my soundness of limb and mind!"

"Have you been seen going into any doctor's office lately?" asked Mrs.

Cane apprehensively.

"Why, yes; I've been going to Dr. Richards' office frequently."

Sube sighed and took up the disposal of his neglected food as his father continued.

"We've been preparing for the defense of that case of Munger against the railroad company. You know Munger is trying to prove that his injuries are of a permanent nature, and we are perfectly certain that he is malingering. I'm in there once or twice every day to consult the doctor's books. We are preparing a long hypothetical question--"

"What a town this is for talk!" exclaimed Mrs. Cane. "That's undoubtedly where the report started."

"There or in the barber shop."

"Yes, that barber shop is a regular clearing house for news!" said Mrs.

Cane.

"Yes, it's as good as an afternoon card party," agreed her husband.

"And," he added after a moment, "I'm going to have the place investigated this afternoon."

At this point something went wrong with Sube's throat. He began to choke and snort most distressfully, and several severe thumps on the back from Cathead were required to restore him to normal condition.

"Yes," Mr. Cane resumed, "I'm going to smoke that barber out. Why, the good-for-nothing ignoramus as much as informed me that I was mentally unsound! Asking _me_ the day of the week and month! That's what they always ask an alleged incompetent person who is being examined as to his sanity! The idea of that know-nothing presuming to ask _me_ such questions as that!"

"But how are you going to 'smoke him out' as you say?" asked Mrs. Cane.

"I've got that all fixed up with Dr. Richards. He's going to go in there and pump that barber dry!" replied Mr. Cane determinedly. "The doctor will drop in for a shave, and he'll find out where McInness heard this slanderous report--"

Sube was seized with another fit of coughing, and politely asked to be excused from the table. However, his epiglottic difficulties vanished as he caught up his cap and dashed out of the house. A few moments later he made his appearance in the McInness barber shop.

The barber grinned at him. "Want another haircut?" he asked maliciously.

Sube gazed searchingly at the lather-smeared occupant of the chair and, recognizing Dr. Richards' unmistakable features, realized he was too late, and turned towards the door with a worried look.

"Lookin' for your father?" asked the barber.

"Huh?--Yes," replied Sube. "Seen 'im?"

"Not sence this mornin'," returned the barber compa.s.sionately.

And before the door had closed Sube heard the barber saying:

"Too bad about the judge, ain't it?"

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Desperation was written on Sube's face as he turned from the barber shop and entered a nearby alley, where he sought to relieve his troubled spirit by kicking an old tin pail, smas.h.i.+ng several bottles, and stoning a cat. But in spite of these pleasant diversions everything was going wrong, and everybody was against him.

"Even the weather's gone back on me," he muttered as a raindrop struck his face.

He was beginning to comprehend why some men turn outlaw. He stepped into a shed to make up his mind whether to get wet or to be late for school, although he knew in advance that it would never do for him to get wet. On entering the shed he observed a thres.h.i.+ng outfit that had been stored for the winter. At the sight an idea began to sprout.

He turned and looked across the alley into the rear windows of Morton & Company, General Insurance, where his eye fell on a telephone standing on a desk not far from the back door. Whereupon the idea stepped from his brain fully grown and ready for action.

Without a moment's hesitation he pulled his cap on securely and made a dash for Morton's back door. It was unlocked. He opened it cautiously and peered inside. The office was vacant. He caught up the telephone and called for McInness's barber shop with a sharp nasal inflection that sounded not at all like himself.

"Is Doc Richards there?" he asked nervously as soon as he heard the barber's voice.

The barber turned from the telephone. "Are you here, Doc," he asked.

"They told me at his office he was there!" cried Sube in the strange voice.

"He wants to know what you want," returned the barber.

"Tell 'im he's wanted at Bert Shepperd's farm jus' fast as he can get there! There's been a awful accident! A man fell into a thras.h.i.+n'

machine and was all chewed up--"

"Who is this?" demanded the barber.

"Tell 'im to hurry up or he'll be too late!" shouted Sube as he slammed on the receiver and slipped quickly out of the door.

He proceeded to a point where he could command a view of the barber shop, and crouching behind an ash-barrel, watched for developments.

And as he watched he gave way to mutterings of a vengeful nature. "He'll pump Joe McInness dry, will he!--He will, hey!--An' then he'll tell my dad all about it, will he!--Well, I'll show 'im!--He can't come that on _me_--"

At this moment he saw Dr. Richards come hurrying out of the barber shop, struggling into his overcoat as he came; and as he stood, b.u.t.toning it, beside his runabout which stood at the curb, Sube heard him call to some one who had not yet come within his range of vision.

"Want to go for a little ride?"

An instant later the person thus addressed came into view. It was Sube's father. Sube saw him cast an inquiring glance at the sky from which the rain was no longer falling, and then clamber into the runabout. He could distinctly hear them laughing as they lighted cigars and drove rapidly away.

Sube stood up and brushed the moist ashes from his clothes. It was no use; everything was against him. He was both late and wet when he reached school, and his brow was more clouded than the sky; but it cleared wonderfully when a terrific downpour began shortly after he took his seat. As the deluge continued his spirits rose in spite of the fact that Miss Wheeler had notified him of her intention to detain him after school in retaliation for his unexcused tardiness.

As is often the case his mental exaltation took literary form, and, a forward pa.s.s having been fumbled, he was required to pick up from the floor and read aloud a cryptic epistle intended for the private consideration of Mr. Gizzard Tobin.

Giz