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Read Ebook: Harper's Young People March 7 1882 An Illustrated Weekly by Various
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Ebook has 459 lines and 24360 words, and 10 pages
"Apples?"
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--"
"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 '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 bring up the kid, and a verse from the Bible about sufferin' little children. And, Giz--" Sube lowered his voice to a strained whisper--"I know who the mother is!"
"What of it?" grunted Gizzard. "Don't I know who the mother of them twins is?"
That gave the matter an entirely different complexion. And Gizzard's eyes were bright as he asked in an eager whisper, "Who is it?"
"Figger it out for yourself," responded Sube gravely. "Who do you know that's got a face as red as a beet? That's the first thing. And don't girl babies always look like their mothers? That's the second thing. And who sat there in Sunday School a couple of Sundays ago and said that verse about sufferin' little children more'n a dozen times?"
Sube smiled tolerantly. "It was her, all right, and I can prove it," he asserted; and then, perceiving that Gizzard was again beginning to sniff questioningly at the atmosphere, Sube proceeded to introduce his proof. Of course, the greater part of this talk was mere subterfuge to gain time; he had already told Gizzard all he knew. And the situation was becoming desperate. With grownups any old explanation would have gone. But with Gizzard it was different; the explanation of that odor must sound true. So Sube vapored on hoping wildly that something would occur to him.
He kept on talking about the foundling and her putative mother simply because he couldn't think
of anything else. And he had just reached the point where he was explaining that a little detective work would be required to bring the cruel mother to justice, when a great light broke over him. He saw a very simple way out of his predicament; he could tell Gizzard that he was raising the mustache for detective purposes, and Gizzard would never suspect that Nancy Guilford was at the bottom of it.
Gizzard rather thought he did.
Sube nodded significantly. "Well, that's it! I'm raisin' a mustache!"
Gizzard was thrilled. And as Sube eloquently unfolded the tale of the magic bottle, his audience was aroused to a pitch of boisterous enthusiasm. Then followed complications that Sube had not anticipated; Gizzard, too, wanted to raise whiskers and become a detective.
And as there appeared to be no way to prevent it without risk of exposure, Sube reluctantly took him in as a sort of Dr. Watson, and duly anointed his cheeks in the interest of a pair of long, flowing side-whiskers. A bristling mustache rather appealed to Gizzard, but was denied him on the ground of priority. Sube had already started a mustache, and there must be no duplications.
Boon for Baldness promised nothing within a week; and for the first time in their life the boys found the spring vacation beginning to drag. They pored over the pictures alleged to have been taken "Before Using" and "After Using," until the poor chromos were ragged and worn; they discussed the "astonishing results" that were guaranteed, until they had exhausted all the possibilities of surprise, and still the time dragged. Then, more as a diversion than anything else, they began to shadow the suspected mother; and this they found so absorbing that Sube almost lost sight of the original purpose for which he had started his mustache.
A careful log of the suspect's movements was kept in a pocket memorandum book that came in the cartony from us, and was gadness. The entries were masterpieces of brevity.
Monday April 10
WHY BE BALD WHEN BOON FOR BALDNESS WILL COVER YOUR SCALP WITH LUXURIANT SILKY HAIR?
Monday she went to see the cid kid
Tuesday April 11
SEE THAT DANDRUFF ON YOUR COAT COLLAR! BOON FOR BALDNESS WILL PREVENT IT.
Tuesday she saw the kid again Afternoon she bought a bottel of something at Westfalls drug Store
Wednesday April 12
BE MANLY! RAISE A BEARD! LET BOON FOR BALDNESS DO IT FOR YOU. RESULTS GUARANTEED.
Saw kid again
The next few pages in addition to various suggestions for the production and preservation of human hair, set forth the damning fact that the suspect visited the foundling every day. And the boys continued to watch; and as they watched, they attended to their hirsutoculture with infinite pains. In the public use of the tiny pocket phials they had both taken to carrying they soon became as expert as a vain woman in the repairing of a damaged complexion. They could slip out the phial and anoint the face without fear of detection; but they encountered numerous obstacles and difficulties of another sort.
This was especially true in the case of Sube. For although the members of his family were wholly unaware of his secret ambitions they took a violent dislike to the scent he wore, and did everything in their power to discourage his indulgence in it. As he sought to seat himself at the table for his midday meal shortly after the first application, his father detained him, and without asking or permitting explanations, sent him back to wash his hands and face thoroughly with soap and hot water.
The boy went, muttering and rebellious; and by the time that he had returned to the table his father had finished eating, and had gone into the library, where he lighted a cigar and puffed furiously as he waited for his fragrant son to finish his meal and report to him for investigation.
Sube tarried at the table as long as was humanly possible in the hope that his father would forget his appointment and go back to the office. Mr. Cane was very far from doing any such thing. He had finished the first cigar and begun on the second before Sube gave up, arose, folded his napkin without being reminded, and walked reluctantly into the library.
Mr. Cane was a lawyer of parts--none of them missing. He had been overworking for years, and the long strain on his nerves had affected him in a most peculiar way. It had made him super-sensitive to any strong or unpleasant odor. He would go blocks out of his way to avoid passing a livery stable. He had been known to get off from a trolley and take the next car because of the presence among the passengers of a man with his hand swathed with iodoform. He had refused even to consider the purchase of an automobile on account of the reputed odor of gasoline. And before such a tribunal came Sube, reeking of the unspeakable fumes of the Boon, and clutching in the hand thrust deep down in his coat pocket his emergency phial of the same, which he was determined to defend with the last drop of his blood.
Mr. Cane motioned to a chair and cleared his throat. "Seward," he began--
And at that moment the boy's memory performed a queer prank. It flashed back to the day in Sunday School when he and his little classmate had heard for the first time of his nickname-sake Tubalcain, the ancient artificer in brass; to his anger when the name was combined with Seward and made into Subal Cane; to his relief when it was worn down by use into Sube Cane; and finally it got round to the apprehension that now seized him whenever he was called by his own baptismal name--and he squirmed in the chair as his father went on in a tone that was alarmingly gentle.
"--you are twelve years old. You are at the portal of manhood. You are old enough to take a little pride in your personal appearance, and your personal--ah--your personal--well, you should be careful never to permit yourself to become in any way offensive to others. You should take pride in keeping sweet and clean. Now, my son, you got into something this morning that has made you very distasteful company for man or beast. Have you any idea what it is?"
As Mr. Cane resumed the vigorous puffing of his cigar, Sube's heart gave a leap; his father hadn't recognized the smell! His mustache was safe!
"Great heavens!" his father burst out. "Do you mean to say that you intentionally contaminated yourself with any such evil-smelling stuff as that?"
Sube quailed before his father's accusing stare and his more accusing gestures. "I guess I hurt it, didn't I?" he mumbled defensively. "And didn't I have to put some'pm on it? And that was the only linimunt--"
"Liniment!" snorted Mr. Cane. "Where did you ever get any such 'liniment' as that?"
"Sir?-- Why, out of a bottle," Sube managed to squirm out at last.
"Out of a bottle, eh? Well, bring me the bottle!"
Sube half started for the door, then halted. "I can't," he whimpered.
"Can't? Why not?" demanded his father.
"'Cause I dropped it and broke it," Sube faltered.
Mr. Cane was obviously relieved. "Oh, well," he said, "if that's the case, never mind. But just as soon as one hour has elapsed I want you to take a good hot bath. Now don't forget it!"
As Sube uttered a scowling but respectful "No, sir," and started to leave the room his father noticed for the first time that he was limping badly.
"Is your leg really hurt, my son?" he asked more kindly.
Sube's face was a study of excruciating pain as he paused to reply that it was pretty bad and he was afraid a bath would make it a good deal worse.
Mr. Cane was not a hard man. He wished to inflict no unnecessary suffering on any one. Perhaps the application of hot water would be painful. And doubtless the odor of the liniment would evaporate in an hour or two.
"Never mind about the bath," he remitted as he began to gather up his papers in preparation for going back to his office.
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