there?" he asked nervously as soon as he heard the
barber's voice.

The barber turned from the telephone. "Are you here, Doc," he asked.

"They told me at his office he was there!" cried Sube in the strange
voice.

"He wants to know what you want," returned the barber.

"Tell 'im he's wanted at Bert Shepperd's farm jus' fast as he can get
there! There's been a awful accident! A man fell into a thrashin'
machine and was all chewed up--"

"Who is this?" demanded the barber.

"Tell 'im to hurry up or he'll be too late!" shouted Sube as he slammed
on the receiver and slipped quickly out of the door.

He proceeded to a point where he could command a view of the barber
shop, and crouching behind an ash-barrel, watched for developments.

And as he watched he gave way to mutterings of a vengeful nature. "He'll
pump Joe McInness dry, will he!--He will, hey!--An' then he'll tell my
dad all about it, will he!--Well, I'll show 'im!--He can't come that on
_me_--"

At this moment he saw Dr. Richards come hurrying out of the barber shop,
struggling into his overcoat as he came; and as he stood, buttoning it,
beside his runabout which stood at the curb, Sube heard him call to some
one who had not yet come within his range of vision.

"Want to go for a little ride?"

An instant later the person thus addressed came into view. It was
Sube's father. Sube saw him cast an inquiring glance at the sky from
which the rain was no longer falling, and then clamber into the
runabout. He could distinctly hear them laughing as they lighted cigars
and drove rapidly away.

Sube stood up and brushed the moist ashes from his clothes. It was no
use; everything was against him. He was both late and wet when he
reached school, and his brow was more clouded than the sky; but it
cleared wonderfully when a terrific downpour began shortly after he took
his seat. As the deluge continued his spirits rose in spite of the fact
that Miss Wheeler had notified him of her intention to detain him after
school in retaliation for his unexcused tardiness.

As is often the case his mental exaltation took literary form, and, a
forward pass having been fumbled, he was required to pick up from the
floor and read aloud a cryptic epistle intended for the private
consideration of Mr. Gizzard Tobin.

Giz

I dont wish nobody harm but I hope the rain keeps stinging down for
therty days and therty nights
S C

As a