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 busy." Sube followed his mother into the kitchen. "How'm I goin' to get a bass drum?" he teased. "Mompsie, how'm I goin' to get--" "Whatever put this drum business into your head?" she asked. "You know any kind of noise affects your father!" "We won't make any noise round here," he assured her. "Honest we won't. But we want to march in the Decoration Day parade." "Why don't you get up a nice little company of soldiers," suggested his mother. "I'll fix a uniform for you, and perhaps your father would let you carry his sword. But I will not help you to get any more drums or other noise-making things. A nice little company of soldiers would be just the thing; and I think your father would drill you once or twice to show you how--" "Dad drill _me_! I guess not! I don't want any 'nice little comp'ny of soldiers,' anyway. I want a drum corpse!" "You talk to the other boys about a nice little company of soldiers. That would be just the thing!"