of the street
was simply the survival of an inborn prejudice against the conservators
of law and order. It couldn't have been timidity.

As far as Sube and Gizzard were concerned, the customary pre-holiday
rush for remunerative employment was a thing of the past. They lolled
luxuriantly in the shade while the other boys were picking neighborhood
cherries, manicuring the lawns and doing what they were pleased to call
"odd jobs."

"What's the use killin' ourselves workin'?" Sube asked Gizzard one day
as they lazily passed a ball back and forth in a listless game of catch.
"Of course," he added in the bored tone of the idle rich, "if I didn't
have money, I s'pose I'd get busy, too. I always like to give the
ever-glorious Fourth a good send-off."

At the term "ever-glorious" Gizzard's hand was poised in air. He was
tempted to put Sube out of his misery on the spot; but a natural
repugnance to the destruction of human life stayed the stroke, and he
returned the ball without intent to kill, albeit a little faster than
Sube regarded as entirely necessary.

"Ouch!" cried Sube as the ball stung his bare hand. "Say! What you think
you're playin'? Stinger? I'll show you that two can play at that game!"

He returned the ball with a vengeance.

Gizzard stepped aside and let it pass. "If you're goin' to sling that
hot stuff you can chase it yourself," he muttered sullenly as he threw
himself down on the grass.

"Me chase it!" howled Sube angrily. "Well, I won't! You didn't try to
stop it at all!"

"I'm glad it ain't _my_ ball," remarked Gizzard with an affected lack of
interest.

"It don't make any diff whose ball it is!" Sube glowered over his
reclining chum. "You'll go and get that ball or I'll--"

"Hi, fellers! I've earned twenty cents already this morning!" came a
voice from behind them.

This was from Biscuit Westfall, who had just emerged from the parsonage
tugging a long set of quilting-frames.

"Throw in that ball, will you, Biscuit?" called Gizzard pleasantly.
"It's right by the big elm tree."

Biscuit laid down his burden and complied with the request. Cordial
relations were instantly restored.

"Gee! But there's go'n'ta be an ever-glorious bonfire to-night," Sube
observed. "The kids have got two sheds back of the Gibson Block jus'
cram-full of boxes and barrels--"

"Yes, but there ain't go'n'ta be no bells rung!" was Gizzard's
discouraging interjection.

"Why not, ain't there?" demanded Sube.

"'Ca