But Sube was not interested in soldiery. The depths of his being had been sounded by the throb of the Henderson Martial Band. Creative instincts had been aroused that only expression could satisfy. He abandoned the quest of the drum and left the house. At the barn he found Gizzard Tobin waiting for him. "Well, what luck?" called Gizzard as Sube approached. "Nuthin' doin'," muttered Sube. "Dad said he'd kick a hole through any drum he caught on the premises, and my mother wouldn't do a thing for a drum corpse. She wanted me to get up a pimply little company of soldiers." "Rotten," voted Gizzard. "What we goin'--" "Say! But I got onto one good thing!" Sube suddenly recalled. "It's another kind of a drum!" And Gizzard learned with interest the details of the construction and operation of the kettle drum. "Hey!" he cried suddenly. "I know where there's a brass kettle! It's a blinger, too!" "Where?" "In my gran'mother's parlor! There's a spinning-wheel and a bed-warmer and a lot of ol' fashioned junk!" "But she won't let you take it." "Who's goin' to ask 'er?" sneered Gizzard. "I'll jus' sneak in there and borrow it!" "Aw, you don't dare!" "I don't, don't I? Well, you jus' come on and watch me. I'll show you whether I do or not!" A little later a shiny brass kettle was handed out of one of Grandma Tobin's parlor windows and was slipped into a sack, which was carelessly slung over Sube's shoulder when Gizzard emerged from the kitchen door with two cookies in his hand. That same day Cathead's banjo disappeared, to be found a year later minus the head, which the mice had doubtless devoured. But the new drum corps was still without a bass drum. Next day, however, Gizzard brought glad tidings. "Hey!" he shouted from afar. "I'm onto a bass drum!" "Better get off," cautioned Sube; "you might bust it." "I know where there is one, jus' the same!" "Where?" Sube was in earnest now. "My dad says Charley Burton used to have one, and it must be up in his mother's attic now!" Sube's face lengthened. "Gee! That's hard luck! Ol' lady Burton wouldn't give me a crumb if I was starvin', nor you neither. She thinks we killed that ol' cat of hers." "Couldn't we get somebody else to ask her for it? Biscuit or somebody?" "Who'd he tell her it was for?" "Oh, a Sunday School entertainment or something." "They don't use drums in Sunday School." "Then he could tell her it was for a school doin's!" The two boys looked at each other for a moment, then Sube turned and darted out of the barn. "Be back in a minute!" he shouted as he started for the house. Presently he returned carrying under his coat an autograph album that was one of Cathead's most cherished possessions. He ran through the pages until he came to the signature of Professor Ingraham, the principal of the school. At the first glance the name startled them; it looked so much like its maker. But after a little it lost its terror and presented nothing but pleasant possibilities.