mburger cheese. Further evidences were found inside his hatband, and
under the innersole of each of his shoes, but not until several days
later.

Subsequent inquiry developed that none of the persons at the pool that
night had been spared, although no two were attacked in the same place.
Two days elapsed before Seth Bissett found a thin layer of the
"dreadful" inside the lining of his favorite necktie, and in the
meantime he had nearly hated himself to death. It was a week before
Chuck Smith located a smear in the back of his watchcase, and during all
that time he was haunted by a suspicion that he was no longer good
company for man or beast. After changing his entire wardrobe several
times in an effort to forget that fatal swim, Bob Beach found when he
had occasion to use his purse a few days later that all his money,
though honestly earned, had become badly tainted.

Nobody seemed to be able to account for the mysterious attack. Some of
the swimmers accused each other, only to arouse vigorous denial, and
there was no proof. But Seth Bissett had his suspicions, and they were
well founded.

If Mrs. Cane had known of the pollution that swept over the
swimming-hole that night, she would doubtless have supposed that Sube
was attacked in common with the others; for he came home reeking of a
loathsome odor that he was unable to account for. But, of course, Mrs.
Cane heard little of the swimming-hole gossip.

"What _have_ you been doing!" she exclaimed as Sube came into the room.

"Never mind about that," growled his father. "Where are you going just
about as fast as you can get there!"

Sube looked from one of his parents to the other in utter surprise.
"What have I done now?" he asked.

"Heaven only knows!" Mr. Cane exploded. "But do get out of this room
with it!"

"With what?" asked the amazed boy, holding out his empty hands. "I ain't
got an'thing."

Mr. Cane mangled the air with gestures of futility while his wife laid
aside her embroidery and stood up.

"You've got something on you that doesn't smell very good. Come with--"

"Doesn't smell very good!" repeated Mr. Cane sarcastically. "Of all the
feeble language! I can describe it for you in one short word!"

"Sam-u-el! Don't be vulgar! You run along to the bathroom, Sube. We'll
try a little ammonia."

"Ammonia!" jeered Mr. Cane. "Am-mo-nia! You'd better boil him in
muriatic acid and bury him for three weeks! A little ammonia," he
repeated as he stood up