ality he was searching
his imagination. Finally he replied, "No, sir; unless maybe it could of
been that little piece of fur I found in one corner."

"There!" cried Mr. Cane. "Why didn't you tell me that before? I might
have spent a hundred dollars having the plumber tear things to pieces in
search of that same little piece of fur!"

"I wasn't sure," muttered Sube. "I didn't know jus' _what_ it was."

"Not sure, eh? Well what did it look like?"

"It _looked_ like a rat," Sube fabricated.

"What did you do with it?"

"Threw it on the ash pile."

"_I_ can soon tell," declared Mr. Cane.

"But an ol' cat grabbed it and carried it away," romanced Sube.

The plumber came and scrubbed the tank, the clothes went to the cleaner,
and Sube proceeded to school hardened and set for the cruel grinding of
another day. And he was not disappointed. Miss Wheeler was very pressing
in her demands for documentary excuses for his absence of the day
before. But when Sube reached home at noon he found his father in no
proper mood to frame diplomatic communications. To be exact, Mr. Cane
was grouchy.

"I don't know what can be the matter with me," he complained as he took
his place at the head of the table. "Do I look sick?"

Mrs. Cane made a very careful examination of his face, and noted the
vigorous erectness of his body, while Sube's gaze was shifting uneasily
back and forth from one parent to the other.

"You haven't looked so well in years," she declared at length. "What's
the matter? Aren't you feeling well?"

"Never felt better in my life. Now I wonder
what's getting into everybody."

"Why, what do you mean?" asked Mrs. Cane nervously.

"Everybody seems to think I'm sick," grumbled Mr. Cane. "Why, the thing
began before I had reached my office this morning. The first person who
spoke of it was Joe McInness, the barber. He stopped me on the street
and asked very particularly how I was feeling to-day. I told him in an
off-hand way that I was never better, and he seemed to be quite
surprised. 'Why, I understood you were--were not feeling well,' he sort
of stammered out.

"I laughed at him. 'Do I look sick, Joe?' I asked.

"'No, you don't _look_ bad,' he said; 'but sometimes folks look
perfectly well physically when they ain't well at all in--in other ways.
And sometimes the worse off they are, the better they _think_ they are.'

"'Well, Joe,' I said as I started on, 'you can mark me down as sound
mentally, morally an