"I don't know jus' what you think you're goin' to do with that," Gizzard, remarked at length. "You see, there's lots of room above it," Sube suggested tentatively. "'Yes, but she'd know the writin' was diff'rent," Gizzard hastened to observe. For a moment Sube was silent. Then he punched Gizzard jovially in the ribs. "Not if I wrote it on the typewriter!" he cried. Then he stuck out his stomach in imitation of a bass drum and marched around saying: "Boom!--Boom!--Boom! Boom! Boom!--Boom!--Boom!--Boom! Boom! Boom!" "But who'll typewrite it?" asked Gizzard. "I will--Boom!--Boom!--Boom! Boom! Boom!" and he brought up before Gizzard with a flourish of his imaginary drumstick. "You watch me!" "How can I watch you when you jus' 'boom' all the time?" asked Gizzard peevishly. "My mother's goin' to a party," Sube divulged presently, "and the minute she's out of the house we'll sneak into my dad's den, and then I'll show you if I can't typewrite on the typewriter! I'll show you! You jus' wait!" But as far as Gizzard was concerned Sube might as well have suggested sneaking into a lion's den. "You don't need to show _me_," he declared. "I'll wait right here!" The cherished page was carefully removed from the album, and in due time Sube disappeared into the house with it. After a long absence he came out again bearing in his hand an envelope smeared with enough finger prints to convict the whole underworld, but neatly addressed in typewriting to: miss? $burton/ %main 3/8-st "There's capital letters on the dern thing," he explained, "but I couldn't find 'em." "She'll never know the diff," ventured Gizzard. "It's a long time since she went to school, and I'll bet she's forgot all about 'em." That afternoon Biscuit Westfall delivered the note; but not until he had received the strongest kind of assurance (including a five-cent piece) that it had been sent by Professor Ingraham, the principal of the school. And from an ambush of shrubbery on the opposite side of the street Sube and Gizzard watched him ascend Mrs. Burton's front porch and ring the bell. Mrs. Burton herself opened the door. She greeted Biscuit cordially, as she was very fond of him. His gentle, dutiful, sweetly pious nature appealed to her. She took the letter with effusive thanks, and learning that an answer was expected, adjusted her spectacles and read it. &dear )miss "burton/: 7willyou kindley lend your son charleis basedrum to the school entertianment and oblige Yours affectionately D.D. Ingraham She turned it over and glanced at the back. Then she read it a second time. "Did Professor Ingraham write this?" she asked with a puzzled expression, tapping the missive with an index finger. "Oh, yes, ma'am!" Biscuit assured her, thinking that he was speaking the truth. "Strange," she mused. "What can he possibly want of that old drum?"