In his mind as he stood there a definite idea assumed form; he would never be a lawyer when he grew up. Nothing short of a showman could satisfy him now. The thought of attending his own show every day was enticing. The informality of the circus life appealed to him. There would be no dining table to keep his elbows off from; no napkin to fold up. When he got hungry he would simply help himself to a few glasses of red lemonade and all the hot dogs he wanted, and no time would be wasted waiting for other people to be served. And when he led the parade, no common milk-white horses for him; he would train and drive a pair of good ol' blood-sweaters! Then another idea struck him; a big one. Why not begin the business at once! He realized that for a time, at least, he would have to be hampered by living in a house and eating at a table; but there was nothing to prevent his starting his show in a small way. A third inspiration showed him how he could obtain a behemoth for immediate use. And by the time he had reached home his plans were well under way. [Illustration] "Dad," he asked as he sauntered into the library a little later, "where is Holy Writ?" "Where is _what_?" asked his astonished parent. "Holy Writ." "Why, if you mean the Bible," said Mr. Cane, "it is in on the parlor table." And he resumed the reading of his paper. For a moment Sube was immovable. Then it dawned on him. The Holy Writ was just another name for the Bible. And those figures underneath the portrait of his favorite were a reference to the Book of Job. He would go back and see what they were. Half an hour later as Mr. Cane stepped behind the davenport in the parlor to adjust a screen, he nearly fell over the boy. "What in thunder are you doing there?" he demanded irritably. "Sir?" "I said, 'What are you doing there?'" "Reading." Sube tried to cover up the object of his perusal by lying on top of it; but this move only excited further curiosity on the part of his father. "What are you reading?" "A book." Evasion was always aggravating to Mr. Cane. "What book?" he cried as he struggled to keep down his rising temper. "This one right here." Sube indicated it with a motion of his body. "What is the name of it?" thundered the exasperated parent. "Sir?" "You heard what I said!" "The name of this book?" Mr. Cane did not deign to answer. He simply glowered, opening and closing his hands as if they itched to take hold of something. Sube understood the look and the convulsive movement of the hands, and made haste to answer: "Why, the name of it's the--" he was compelled to turn the book over and examine the title--"the Bible," he mumbled. "What's that?" asked Mr. Cane petulantly. "Speak so a person can understand you! Don't mumble." Sube hung his head as he murmured, "I said, 'the Bible.'"