snarl and
a bloodthirsty licking of chops. And on one occasion Mr. Cane had been
surprised into boxing the beast's ears and threatening to skin it alive
and make a rug of its pelt if it ever sprang out at him again.

Then, as suddenly as it had come, the lion-face disappeared and its
haunts knew it no more, for Sube had turned to other matters. He was
organizing a drum corps. The new enterprise was brought to the attention
of his family by a demand for a bass drum.

"A bass drum!" his father exploded with a sound not wholly unlike that
vast instrument. "What next! I de-clare, that boy beats--"

He gave up in despair.

Sube's mother had stronger nerves and was much less explosive. "What
could you possibly do with a bass drum?" she asked.

"I got to have one for my drum corpse," replied Sube with the air of a
man of affairs.

His father gave way to another explosion. "Well, there will be another
kind of corpse around here if you ever attempt to perform in this
neighborhood!" he threatened.

"Where's the drum your uncle Ned gave you?" asked his mother.

Sube glanced apprehensively at his father. This drum had been heard from
before. "It's put away," he mumbled; hastily adding, "That's a snare
drum, anyway. What we need is a bass drum!"

The mere thought of a drum was annoying to his father, who declared in a
menacing tone: "I hereby warn you that if I ever find a drum on the
premises, snare, bass, kettle or any other kind, I'll kick a hole
through it! Now don't forget that!"

"Kettle? Did you say kettle?" Sube asked eagerly. "What's a kettle
drum?"

"Never mind what it is," retorted his father. "The less you know about
drums, the better off you'll be."

"It wouldn't bother you just to have me _know_ about it, would it?" Sube
persisted.

"That's right! Stick to it!" growled his father. "I suppose I may as
well tell you. It's like a brass kettle with a drumhead over the top.
Now run along and don't bother me any more."

"But how do you play it?"

"What a question! Why, with sticks, of course!"

But Sube was not to be put off. "How many? One? Or two?" he asked as he
edged towards the door.

"Two, of course!" responded his father.

"Like a snare drum?" Sube called back as he tarried in the doorway.

Seeing that he was about to be relieved of his son's presence Mr. Cane
amplified a little. "More like two small bass drumsticks," he explained.
"Now run along and don't bother me again to-day, for I am very