"Huh? My lip?" he temporized as he tried to think of a plausible explanation. "Why,--why, I--I bumped 'at against the door," he got out finally. "Prob'ly that's what makes you so pale," suggested Cathead. "Lay down a minute and you'll be all right." Sube was glad to follow this advice. "You ain't told me what you're all dressed up for," Cathead reminded him presently. "I can't find my other clo's, I tole you," growled Sube. "I'll bet mama's gone and given 'em to the Salvation Army or something." "How long since you couldn't find 'em?" "Took 'em off jus' soon as I got home, and I ain't seen 'em since." "That's funny," muttered Cathead as he began a cursory search for the missing garments. A moment later he called from the bathroom, "Hey, Sube, I've found out what smells so bad!" "What?" asked Sube with a note of alarm. "It's the water! Something must of got into the cistern. I'll bet it's another cat." Sube gave one long futile breath that put into words would have said, "What next!" It was a bad matter. But it was not so pressing as a certain other bad matter. Something had to be done about his incompleted haircut--and done quickly. No explanation could be made that was not likely to lead to very unpleasant disclosures. His only salvation was a _real haircut_. And that of necessity involved the expenditure of a sum of money he did not possess. Sube knew Cathead had money--Cathead always had money--and he at once began a series of flattering offers to sell anything he possessed. But Cathead was thrifty. The commercial instinct was strong in him. He realized that the time to buy is when the other fellow wants to sell; but he did not become over anxious. He said he was not in the market. Neither was he conducting a loan office. Of course, if it was made worth his while, why,--he might think of it. This bickering nearly drove Sube mad. Time for the evening meal was drawing near. He could hear his father's voice downstairs. In his desperation he made up a job lot containing everything of his in which Cathead had ever betrayed an interest, and struck it off for thirty pieces of copper. Cathead grasped the psychology of the moment. "I'll take you up," he said promptly. "Come on down stairs while I get the money out of my bank." Sube went only too willingly. In the library he encountered his father. "Where is your cap, Sube?" reminded Mr. Cane. "Yes, I know it," Sube explained. "I didn't forget it; you see, I'm goin' right out again." "But as long as you are in the house--" "Yes, sir; I'll take it right off." Sube made a feint at his cap with one hand as he snatched some coins from Cathead with the other, and darted for the door. "Seward!" called Mr. Cane sternly. "Come here!" _Bang!_ The front door closed with sufficient violence to jar the entire house as Sube dashed up the street. Sube had heard his father's voice plainly in spite of the fact that he continued to assure himself that he had not.