d matter. Something had to be done about his incompleted
haircut--and done quickly. No explanation could be made that was not
likely to lead to very unpleasant disclosures. His only salvation was a
_real haircut_. And that of necessity involved the expenditure of a sum
of money he did not possess.

Sube knew Cathead had money--Cathead always had money--and he at once
began a series of flattering offers to sell anything he possessed. But
Cathead was thrifty. The commercial instinct was strong in him. He
realized that the time to buy is when the other fellow wants to sell;
but he did not become over anxious. He said he was not in the market.
Neither was he conducting a loan office. Of course, if it was made worth
his while, why,--he might think of it.

This bickering nearly drove Sube mad. Time for the evening meal was
drawing near. He could hear his father's voice downstairs. In his
desperation he made up a job lot containing everything of his in which
Cathead had ever betrayed an interest, and struck it off for thirty
pieces of copper.

Cathead grasped the psychology of the moment. "I'll take you up," he
said promptly. "Come on down stairs while I get the money out of my
bank."

Sube went only too willingly. In the library he encountered his father.

"Where is your cap, Sube?" reminded Mr. Cane.

"Yes, I know it," Sube explained. "I didn't forget it; you see, I'm
goin' right out again."

"But as long as you are in the house--"

"Yes, sir; I'll take it right off."

Sube made a feint at his cap with one hand as he snatched some coins
from Cathead with the other, and darted for the door.

"Seward!" called Mr. Cane sternly. "Come here!"

_Bang!_ The front door closed with sufficient violence to jar the entire
house as Sube dashed up the street. Sube had heard his father's voice
plainly in spite of the fact that he continued to assure himself that he
had not.

He had proceeded only a short distance from home when Nancy Guilford and
her mother loomed up before him. Sube rarely overlooked an opportunity
to demonstrate to Mrs. Guilford his Chesterfieldian manners. But to-day
he dodged past with nothing more than a bourgeois twitch at his cap; and
railing under his breath at an unkind fate he sped on towards the barber
shop.

But alas, he was too late. The door was locked, and the barber, in
company with his wife, was just turning away as Sube came panting up.

"Mr. McInness! Mr. McInness!" he called feverishly