"We've been preparing for the defense of that case of Munger against the railroad company. You know Munger is trying to prove that his injuries are of a permanent nature, and we are perfectly certain that he is malingering. I'm in there once or twice every day to consult the doctor's books. We are preparing a long hypothetical question--" "What a town this is for talk!" exclaimed Mrs. Cane. "That's undoubtedly where the report started." "There or in the barber shop." "Yes, that barber shop is a regular clearing house for news!" said Mrs. Cane. "Yes, it's as good as an afternoon card party," agreed her husband. "And," he added after a moment, "I'm going to have the place investigated this afternoon." At this point something went wrong with Sube's throat. He began to choke and snort most distressfully, and several severe thumps on the back from Cathead were required to restore him to normal condition. "Yes," Mr. Cane resumed, "I'm going to smoke that barber out. Why, the good-for-nothing ignoramus as much as informed me that I was mentally unsound! Asking _me_ the day of the week and month! That's what they always ask an alleged incompetent person who is being examined as to his sanity! The idea of that know-nothing presuming to ask _me_ such questions as that!" "But how are you going to 'smoke him out' as you say?" asked Mrs. Cane. "I've got that all fixed up with Dr. Richards. He's going to go in there and pump that barber dry!" replied Mr. Cane determinedly. "The doctor will drop in for a shave, and he'll find out where McInness heard this slanderous report--" Sube was seized with another fit of coughing, and politely asked to be excused from the table. However, his epiglottic difficulties vanished as he caught up his cap and dashed out of the house. A few moments later he made his appearance in the McInness barber shop. The barber grinned at him. "Want another haircut?" he asked maliciously. Sube gazed searchingly at the lather-smeared occupant of the chair and, recognizing Dr. Richards' unmistakable features, realized he was too late, and turned towards the door with a worried look. "Lookin' for your father?" asked the barber. "Huh?--Yes," replied Sube. "Seen 'im?" "Not sence this mornin'," returned the barber compassionately. And before the door had closed Sube heard the barber saying: "Too bad about the judge, ain't it?" [Illustration] Desperation was written on Sube's face as he turned from the barber shop and entered a nearby alley, where he sought to relieve his troubled spirit by kicking an old tin pail, smashing several bottles, and stoning a cat. But in spite of these pleasant diversions everything was going wrong, and everybody was against him. "Even the weather's gone back on me," he muttered as a raindrop struck his face.