le Sube Cane sat with the easy
grace of a range-rider, gently rising in his stirrups in unison with the
pounding of imaginary unshod hoofs on the soft turf of a dreamland
prairie, as he conversed in low tones with a dark-haired maiden who rode
in fancy beside him. And, as he rode, he gently rubbed his upper lip
with an index finger.

Nor was this rubbing the aimless wandering of an idle forefinger; it was
persistent and purposeful. For although Sube was only twelve years of
age and still in knickerbockers, he was set upon the propagation of a
mustache.

The desire and the opportunity of fulfillment had come to him at almost
the same instant. Voices in the library had attracted his attention a
few moments before, and pausing outside the door he had heard Dr.
Richards jovially expounding to his father the virtues of a large
sample bottle of hair restorer which apparently possessed all the
quickening agencies known to man, and was, with the trifling exception
of an unendurable odor, all that the name implied--a Boon for Baldness.

The doctor's intimation that the stuff would grow hair on the side of a
house aroused Sube's interest. And soon after the doctor's departure the
boy purloined the bottle from his father's medicine cabinet, and
strictly in the interest of scientific investigation rubbed a small
quantity on the side of the house.

It was during this experiment that the big idea was born. If it would
grow hair on the side of a house, why not--?

A pleasant vision floated before Sube's eyes. He saw himself beneath the
kindly disguise of a flowing mustache, mingling unrecognized among his
friends. Then suddenly the adoring eyes of Nancy Guilford penetrated his
mask. And she began to seek his forgiveness for having called him a kid;
and with a continuous crossing of her heart she promised over and over
that she would never again refer to the fact that she was two years
older than he.

"That's all right, Nance," he condescended to say; "we'll let that go.
But if you want to have a _man_ with a _mustache_ for a fellow, you've
got to promise that you'll never speak to Biscuit Westfall again as
long as you live--"

But before Nancy's promise could be recorded, cruel footsteps intruded
upon the vision. And slipping the bottle under his coat Sube retired to
the barn, where he made the first fragrant application to his upper lip,
and then retired to the roof, where there would be plenty of ventilation
while he rubbed