Then suddenly it dawned on them that the grenadier in charge was none other than Sube Cane, and that the jaunty kettle-drummer was a gentleman commonly called Gizzard Tobin. Little attention was paid to the assistant bass-drummer, Biscuit Westfall. But he was important. He wielded no stick, yet carried most of the weight of the drum; and he was there from a sense of duty rather than desire. Orders alleged by Sube to have come directly from Professor Ingraham were quite explicit. And as the several fifers and snare-drummers had little to do with the subsequent events of the day they shall remain nameless.

The costumes of Cane's Marital Band were military, but they were far from uniform.

At last the procession moved. The Silver Cornet Band blared out a funeral march several blocks long, at the termination of which the Henderson Drum Corps gave a muffled selection that ended only when the cemetery had been reached. As the vast multitude assembled around the grave the Silver Cornet Band rendered Nearer My God to Thee with telling effect. And as the last sad notes died away Colonel E. Dalrymple Smythe removed his hat and began to clear his throat.

"My friends,—" he extended his arms and looked about helplessly, as if to create the impression that before the open grave even his words were powerless. However, it was his intention to remove that impression a little later. As he stood thus transfixed, a hubbub started somewhere back in the crowd. At first fitful and chaotic, it became more steady as it gathered force, and soon settled into a regular beat.

Pluff-a-luff—pluff-pluff
pluff-a-luff—pluff-pluff
pluff-a-luff—pluff-a-luff—pluff-a-luff
pluff-PLUFF!

It was the refrain of slack drums and tin whistles. There was plenty of noise, and plenty of rhythm, but no suspicion of a tune. For some moments Colonel Smythe waited for order to be restored, hands still poised in mid-air. Then he recognized the sound as the one he had previously heard, and feeling certain that no power on earth could stop it, he proceeded with his remarks as best he could.

Several persons motioned frantically for Grand Marshal Richards to quell the disturbance. He nodded his head and dashed off; but he went in the wrong direction—and the band played on.

Then Willum Edson, the leader of the Silver Cornet Band, took the law into his own hands and rushed over to put a stop to the din. But before he could get there Sube had brought his selection to a close, and was conversing in a suppressed though audible tone, accompanied by violent gesticulations, with a group of boys who had gathered round his musicians.

"We can't play, hey!—I showed you, didn't I?—It's a fake drum corpse, is it!—Fooled you, didn't I?"

"Yaa-a-a-ah! But they shut you up!" taunted somebody. "You dassen't play again!"

"We dassen't, hey!"

And before the colonel was fully aware that he had the floor to himself Cane's Marital Band had begun its second number.

Again Willum Edson made a rush for Sube's band. But Sube refused to be cowed. No doubt he suspected the rival musician of professional jealousy, for he swung his drumstick with a flourish that surpassed any of his previous performances. And, pressing too close, Willum Edson received a vigorous thump in the pit of the stomach, whereupon he straightway lost his temper and gave the drum corps leader an angry shove.

Sube promptly fell over a headstone, marking the resting place of Experience, Third Wife of Carso Norton, pulling Biscuit and the bass drum on top of him. When he had regained his feet he discovered to his dismay a large triangular hole through the drumhead that took the MARIT entirely out of MARITAL.

He had time for the utterance of just one angry bleat in the direction of Willum Edson, when Nature took a hand in the conflict and let fall one of her torrential spring downpours. A mad scramble for cover followed.

The few who had brought umbrellas raised them, and then had to fight for the privilege of remaining under them. Those who had come in carriages hastened to get under the protection of the tops. The members of the Silver Cornet Band trailed their instruments to keep them from filling with water as they beat a hurried but organized retreat. The fire companies in their spotless parade uniforms broke ranks and scattered. Cane's Marital Band took refuge under a piece of canvas that had been spread over the pile of soil thrown from the open grave, with the exception of Sube and Biscuit, who were too much encumbered by the bass drum to secure a place and were compelled to look for other quarters.

At the first splash of rain the colonel rescued his silk hat from a bystander (who had attempted to protect it by putting it under his coat) and casting dignity to the winds made a rush for his carriage. He clambered in beside Mrs. Cane and sat helplessly in the downpour while Mr. Cane and the Village President struggled with the ungainly top.

The driver was too much engaged with his plunging steeds to lend a hand, but he superintended the job with superb profanity. When finally the top had yielded to their efforts Mr. Cane, drenched and disgusted, pulled himself into the carriage as the colonel explained:

"That was the noise! The identical noise! The noise that passed under my window and disturbed my rest! What in—What was it?"

As Mrs. Cane murmured that she hadn't the slightest idea, something in the crowd caught her eye. It was a tall grenadier cap that had become partly unwound and gave the appearance of having a tail. And nearby was a large bass drum with a hole through one head. A fleeting glance and it was gone. But a look at her husband told her that he too had seen it.

At this point the carriage became hopelessly involved in a jam of vehicles and stopped. As it stood there the downpour moderated, and finally settled into a gentle shower. And just before it started on again shouts and laughter could be distinctly heard. A most unseemly proceeding for the return from a funeral, and on Decoration Day of all days!

Mrs. Cane leaned out and looked forward, but she could distinguish nothing but a hooting, howling mob that seemed to be crowding round the hearse.

At length the carriage moved; and as it caught up with the hearse she beheld to her horror the cause of the shocking levity. Inside the hearse was an imitation lion pacing restlessly back and forth, as it lashed its bass drumstick tail in evident anger. There was something strangely familiar about the beast, and especially about the tawny mane of foxlike fur that was wrapped around its neck.

Suddenly the creature whirled about—and Mrs. Cane found herself looking directly into one of Sube's best lion-faces. She fell back into the cushions with a gasp. Then, perceiving that her guest was looking the other way and had not yet seen the horrible sight, she clutched her husband's arm.

"Drive on!" she pleaded desperately. "Drive on quickly!"

"But how can I?" he returned with a gesture of futility.

At that instant the colonel caught sight of the lion. His mouth fell open. He drew back in surprise. Then he did something that he had not done in years. He put aside all the care and sadness of the world; he surrendered what little dignity the downpour had left him, and throwing back his head, he bellowed with laughter.

A sudden shift in the jam of vehicles let the hearse move out of their sight, but the colonel followed it with his eyes as far as he could see it, leaning out of the carriage for one last look, and roaring and chortling until he was weak.

By the time the carriage had reached the Cane homestead Mr. Cane was beaming, in spite of his disheveled appearance.

"Yes, sir," he boasted, "that boy of mine is certainly a skeezix! Great sense of humor; he can get fun out of anything—even a funeral! What do you think of that boy of mine anyway, Colonel?"

"Ours!" Mrs. Cane corrected. "Our boy!"