Part 35 (1/2)
”Why, I had no idea that you wanted it,” she replied; ”it was always lying around in the way. You never wore it, and besides, it had a great hole through it.”
Sube scowled. ”Who'd you give it to?” he asked peevishly, with an insane idea of getting it back.
”To some women who were soliciting for the dest.i.tute Belgians,” she answered. ”You ought to be very glad to help such a worthy cause.”
”What were their names?”
”I'm sure I don't know. They were representatives of the Red Cross Society who had come all the way down from Rochester.”
And Sube went out of the house wronged and brooding, and threw himself down on the gra.s.s near the kitchen door, where Gizzard joined him a short time later.
”Now, what do you know about that, Giz?” growled Sube, as Gizzard jumped up and caught a limb of the apple tree and started to skin the cat.
”They went and gave away my Wild West hat.”
Although the cat was only partially skinned, Gizzard delayed the operation long enough to remark that it was no great loss anyway.
”I guess you don't know the hat I mean,” returned Sube warmly. ”I mean the hat that Buffalo Bill wore in the Indian fight, and got a bullet-hole through!”
Gizzard dropped to the ground. ”If you mean that ol' felt hat you found on the Fair Grounds the day after the circus,” he said without mercy, ”I know _that_ one.”
The authenticity of this hat had long been disputed; and even now, after it was gone, Gizzard was unwilling to concede to it any of the virtues with which Sube's imagination had clothed it. And in addition to this, Gizzard had grievances of his own. The solicitors had by no means pa.s.sed him by.
”You needn't think you're the only one,” he complained. ”My mother went and give away the best pair of ol' pants I had. She gave 'em to the sufferin' Belgiums.”
”Huh!” snorted Sube disdainfully. ”Nothin' but an ol' pair of pants!
What's an ol' pair of pants, anyway? Everybody's got an ol' pair of pants to give away; but let me tell you they won't get another genuwine hat that Buffalo Bill wore with a hole shot through!”
But the former occupant of the pants refused to have them lightly treated. ”Let me tell you that them pants wasn't to be sneezed at!” he retorted. ”They was the best _ol'_ pants I ever had. You never seen such pockets in your life--great big, deep fellers, and a little secret money-pocket--”
Reference to this secret pocket reminded Sube of something. ”You mean those gray pants with the buckle on the back and all the suspender b.u.t.tons on 'em?” he interrupted.
”Yep, the very ones,” replied Gizzard, pleased that his apparel should have made such an impression on his friends. ”'Member 'em?”
”You bet I remember 'em!” cried Sube enthusiastically. ”That's the pair we used to sing the song about--'Papa's Pants Will Soon Fit Gizzie!'”
”Well,” returned Gizzard defiantly, ”they wasn't an ol' felt hat that a horse had stepped on, anyway.”
The allusion was somewhat pointed, but Sube did not follow the matter up. Instead, he asked amicably, ”Who did the beggin' over to your house?”
”A couple of ladies from Rochester,” answered Gizzard. ”I didn't see 'em, but that's what Ma said.”
”That's jus' what I thought,” muttered Sube as he practiced ”jumping the fence” with his jackknife, and at the same time turned an idea over in his mind. Presently it came out. ”Look 'ere, Giz,” he said, ”if a couple of ladies can come down here from Rochester and get away with a lot of stuff, what's the reason _we_ can't go around and get hold of some good things?”
”They wouldn't give 'em to _us_.”
”Not if we said they was for the sufferin' Belgiums?” demanded Sube.
”I'll betcha they would!”
”But what do we want of a lot of ol' women's clo's and hats and things, and ol' men's shoes?” asked Gizzard.