nly.

"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,"
asserted 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," asserted 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 pal