The game stopped. There was momentary confusion among the players. Sube slipped the new ball into his pocket and carelessly kicked his sweater over a pair of shoes and stockings lying beside the court, before he appeared to be able to locate the speaker. When at last his eyes encountered Mrs. Westfall's, he snatched off his cap with elaborate gusto and sang out politely: "Good morning, M's Westfall! Did you call us?" "Yes," she replied sharply. "Where's Karl?" "Ma'am?" "Is Karl here?" "Oh! No, ma'am." "I gave him permission to come here and play tennis!" she cried with visible irritation. "Hasn't he been here?" "No, ma'am. We ain't seen him this mornin'." Mrs. Westfall was annoyed. "He's going driving with us!" she informed them. "Do you know where he is?" "No, ma'am! He hasn't been around here!" At that moment a movement at the rear of the house and in the immediate neighborhood of the cellar door caught Mrs. Westfall's eye. An animated mass of dirt and potato sprouts that might by some stretch of the imagination have been taken for a human being, emerged and paused to regard itself. For a moment it brushed desperately at the place where trousers might have been expected to hang had it been a male member of the human family. A cloud of stifling dust arose; and out of the midst of the cloud came a wail of distress that Mrs. Westfall recognized as the voice of her missing son. Her astonishment gave way to annoyance, quickly followed by a surge of red anger. She handed the reins to her escort and leaped from the surrey with the agility of a tigress. Sube involuntarily fell back a few steps muttering: "Why! That must be him! I wonder where he's been!" But he need have no fear, for this was his day. He was immune from disaster of any kind. The enraged woman rushed past him, and seizing Biscuit by the nape of the neck, hauled him over her knee and repeatedly applied to his person a large red hand, utterly regardless of the nebulous masses of dust that arose at each stroke. At first Biscuit put up a terrified resistance, attempting desperately to get a hearing for his plea of justification; but when the blows began to rain down on him he gave himself up to such solace as the human voice affords. He cried; then he bawled; and as the chastisement proceeded he bellowed lustily. It was not so much the physical pain, nor the anguish of outraged innocence, although he felt both keenly, as it was the burning disgrace of being chastised in the presence of his fellows. But his lamentations had little effect on his mother. She ceased her ministrations only when her strength was spent. "There!" she gasped with her final blow. "You--dirty--boy!!--Look at your bare feet!" Biscuit looked at them. They were indeed bare, and very, very dirty.