it in.

And here Gizzard Tobin found him a short time afterwards, to Sube's
intense discomfiture, for the young mustache-raiser was caught like a
rat in a trap and with no adequate explanation for smelling to heaven.
Sube did not overwhelm his caller with the warmth of his welcome.

Gizzard noted the lack of cordiality, and with all the directness of his
twelve years started in to probe it to the bottom.

"Been gettin' a lickin'?" he inquired as he seated himself in front of
his companion.

"No, I ain't," grunted Sube.

"Then what's the matter of you?"

"Who said an'thing was?"

At this moment Gizzard caught a whiff of the unspeakable aroma. His face
lighted up at once. "Been hurt?" he asked eagerly.

Sube shook his head.

Obviously disappointed, Gizzard pursued his inquiries. "Then what makes
you smell so much like a horse doctor?" he asked.

Sube was in deep water. He couldn't tell Gizzard the truth about the
mustache! But what _could_ he tell? As nothing occurred to him, he made
a bluff at mumbling that he didn't "smell nuthin'," thereby arousing
Gizzard's compassionate derision.

At this tense moment there popped into Sube's mind an interesting bit of
news that he had gleaned from his eaves-dropping outside the library
door during the doctor's visit, and thinking that he might, by telling
it, distract Gizzard's attention from his quest of the engaging odor,
Sube dramatically glanced around as if to make sure that nobody was
near, and whispered behind his hand:

"Hey, Giz, heard the news about ol' Whiting that lives nex' door to Doc
Richards?"

Gizzard shook his head skeptically.

"Well, sir, when he went out on his porch to get his paper this morning,
what do you s'pose he found there in a basket?"

"Apples?"

"I should say _not_! He found a little girl baby, as red as a beet!"

Gizzard was inclined to belittle this announcement. "That's nuthin'," he
muttered; "the folks who live 'cross the street from us had twins last
week--"

"But you don't understand!" cried Sube impatiently. "This was a
_founding_!"

"A what?" asked Gizzard with a blank stare.

"A founding. It didn't have any mother or father, or an'thing 'xcept a
'nomynous letter."

"A _what_ letter?" demanded Gizzard.

"A 'nomynous letter," Sube explained loftily. "A letter without any name
signed to it but 'A Friend' or 'Taxpayer' or some'pm like that."

"What'd the letter say in it?"

"Oh, nuthin' 'xcept would ol' Whiting b