Fate gave indications of having designed Sube for a business career, and although he tried to keep out of the clutches of trade during vacation he was not entirely successful.

When, one morning, Mr. Gizzard Tobin, always Sube's friend and often his well-wisher, found Sube seated on the bottom of an upturned pail in his father's barn laboriously endeavoring to cut in two with a pair of lawn clippers a perfectly good tennis net, his modest inquiry as to Sube's purpose in so doing was met with the response that it was for "luc'ative bus'ness."

Regarding this explanation as somewhat indefinite he asked, "What bus'ness?"

"I told you it's for bus'ness," Sube informed him rather stiffly, and then recalling a phrase with which Annie had crushed the iceman a few moments before, he added, "But that is neither here nor there."

Gizzard was susceptible to high-sounding phrases, and he was accordingly impressed; but having nothing equally lofty in his own vocabulary he attempted no reply.

Sube snipped on in silence until the net dropped on the floor in two pieces. Then he tossed aside the clippers, and catching up the smaller piece of net spread it out before him very much as a tailor displays a handsome panting, and announced:

"Now we're ready for bus'ness."

"Bus'ness!" sneered Gizzard. "Bus'ness! I'd like to know what bus'ness uses a ol' piece of tennis net."

"Lots of bus'nesses uses nets," replied Sube with an air of superiority; "but that is neither here nor there."

At this second flight Gizzard began to feel that he was seriously handicapped by his lack of education. But he struggled as best he could against the overwhelming odds by asking rather peevishly:

"What bus'nesses uses nets? Name one!"

"Fishermen use nets; but that is neither here nor there. I'll tell you another—"

"I'm goin' home," muttered Gizzard, beginning to feel that he was entirely outclassed.

"Don't you want to be in the new bus'ness?" asked Sube in astonishment.

"Not unless I know what it is," murmured Gizzard as he tarried in the doorway.

"Why, it's catchin' wild animals!" shouted Sube in his enthusiasm. "We'll tangle 'em up in the net so's they can't get away and then we'll shut 'em up in cages and sell 'em!"

"That ain't a bus'ness," growled Gizzard sullenly; "it's nuthin' but a game."

"No, it ain't a game!" Sube insisted. "I tell you it's a reg'lar bus'ness, and there's money in it!"

But Gizzard had been the victim of bitter experience. "If you mean the trappin' bus'ness," he said, "there's nuthin' in it! I've trapped, and I know!"

"Trappin' bus'ness? Now who said an'thing about the trappin' bus'ness? I don't mean the trappin' bus'ness at all! I mean the bus'ness of catchin' stray cats!"

"But you said there was money in it," returned Gizzard with a trace of disappointment. "Who'd be fool enough to pay for stray cats?"

"P'fessor Silver would!" declared Sube jubilantly.

"Who's P'fessor Silver?"

"He's the ol' guy that's stayin' at M's Rude's. Wears those big round goggles—you know! Always sneakin' up on bugs and lookin' at 'em through a magnifyin'-glass."

"What's he p'fessor of?"

"Hobart College!"

"And he'll pay for ol' cats?"

"You're right he will! Fif-ty cents apiece!"

"Fif-ty cents apiece? Aw, what'd he want of ol' cats enough to pay fif-ty cents for 'em?"

"That is neither here nor there," declared Sube, "so long as he does pay for 'em."

"S'pose that ol' net'd hold a cat?" questioned Gizzard.

"Would it hold a cat? Would it? Say, boy, that net'd hold a elephant! But that is neither here nor there, 'cause all we—"

But Sube did not finish what he started to say because of a peculiar interruption. For Gizzard, feeling that drastic action was necessary to offset Sube's continued use of his lofty new phrase, walked over and dealt the net a vicious kick. His foot caught in its tricky meshes and a quick jerk on Sube's part did the rest. In another instant Gizzard found himself prostrate on the floor with Sube standing over him yelling:

"You're a tiger or an elephant or some'pm and I'm a native tryin' to capture you!"

The proposition did not appeal to Gizzard, and he made an attempt to rise, but Sube easily tripped him again. Several subsequent attempts met the same fate. Then Gizzard, bellowing with rage, started in to kick the net to pieces. This he found to be a difficult task. The more he kicked, the more tangled he became, and the more angry he got. But he did not give up the struggle until he was wound up into a very fair semblance of a mummy.

Meanwhile Sube had been hopping about his victim, shouting orders to a couple of imaginary helpers called Sambo and Rastus, and pulling or throwing the net where it would do the most good. He thoroughly enjoyed the contest and warmly congratulated his catch at its termination.

"You certainly put up an elegant fight, Giz!" he exclaimed. "You'd make a bully tiger! And now I'll know what to do when I get a fierce ol' tomcat in there!"

But Gizzard was in no mood for compliments. "Let me up now," was all that he replied.

When the smoke of battle had cleared away a co-partnership was formed. The terms were quickly arranged on a fifty-fifty basis; but the more important matter of selecting a name required some little time and a great deal of discussion.

"Why not call it Tobin & Cane Cat Company?" suggested Gizzard with his customary modesty.

Sube shook his head. "That wouldn't do, 'cause we might want to catch other wild animals besides cats," he explained.

"What other wild animals? I'd like to know."

"Oh, any wild animals that happened to come prowlin' around."

"Name some of 'em," Gizzard persisted.

"Woodchucks, foxes,—skunks—"

"Say," interrupted Gizzard, "you can have my share of all the skunks you catch in that net! But I won't help you. You couldn't fool the p'fessor on a skunk, anyway! He'd jus' get out his little magnifyin'-glass and hold it over a skunk for about a minute— And besides—"

"All right," Sube agreed; "we won't catch any skunks if you don't want to. But we could! And hey! I got a name!"

"What?"

"Let's call it Cane & Tobin—Big Game!"

And although Gizzard felt that the euphonic effect of Tobin & Cane would have been an improvement, he acquiesced.

The new concern opened for business at once, and within half an hour had made its first capture. The hunters were stealing cautiously past a neighbor's garden, carrying the net between them, when Sport, Sube's dog, chased a large tiger cat out from between the rows of corn and directly into the net. The boys did little except to drop the net and keep out of reach of the snarling, spitting, clawing beast until it had become involved beyond possibility of escape.

Carefully carrying the net on two sticks, they bore their prey to their place of business, where they made ready for his accommodation a cage that had once housed a thriving family of rabbits. Before attempting to incarcerate him, however, they formally christened him Gyp the Blood.

Gyp had not occupied the net for any great length of time, but he had become very much attached to it, and vigorously resisted all efforts to deprive him of its clinging comfort. Force and strategy were tried in vain. Then Sube suggested the use of hypnotism.

"You see," he explained, "if I could charm 'im like they do snakes, he'd be as gentle as a little rabbit, and I could untangle 'im from that net as easy as unrollin' a piece of paper."

"Snake charmin' is all right if it works; but if it don't work, you get killed! Go to it, if you can do it! Say, how do you charm a thing, anyway?"

"That's easy. You jus' look 'em in the eye and kinda whistle a little tune, and keep on lookin' 'em in the eye and gettin' closer and closer, and pretty soon without their knowin' what you're doin' at all—why, they're all charmed! But if they get on that you're charmin' 'em! Wow!—Then look out!"

Gizzard was greatly interested in the occult art. "How can you tell when you're done?" he asked eagerly.

"I'll show you!" Sube bent over Gyp the Blood and gazed steadily into the brightly gleaming eyes. Meanwhile he had begun to whistle a little tune strangely reminiscent of the Streets of Cairo. But Gyp the Blood did not easily succumb to hypnotic suggestion. He continued to growl peevishly and lashed the floor with the loose end of his tail. Closer and closer bent Sube. The growling diminished. Then it ceased altogether. The distance between the eyes of the boy and the eyes of the cat became a matter of inches. Then there was a terrific snarl!

Sube fell over on his back howling with pain and holding both hands to his nose.

"It's jus' like charmin' snakes," remarked Gizzard as he struggled to control his laughter. "It's all right if it works!" Then, catching sight of Sube's nose, he exclaimed, "Gee! He handed you a good one on the nose! Hurt much?"

"No, not much," Sube prevaricated, for he considered the admission of pain unethical for all save girls and cry-babies. "But I know how to do it now!"

"How to hypnotize 'im?"

"Don't get cute, now! No; how to get him out of that net. We'll put 'im in the cage net and all, and then while you hammer on the box and poke 'im with a stick I'll hook the net with a piece of wire and yank like Holy Moses!"

And it was done. And in less than two hours from the time of his capture, Gyp the Blood was safe behind the bars. But his fiery spirit was far from subdued. His eyes glowed as fiercely as before, and his blasphemous growling was none the less continual.

During the afternoon two more victims were brought in, and the Big Game establishment of Cane & Tobin began to sound like something. The necessity of a commissary department was also discovered. Plates and saucers were easy enough to purloin, but very hard to fill three times a day.

On account of the lack of confidence usually displayed by parents in the mercantile ventures of their sons, most of the youthful business of our country is run on the basis of a shady enterprise. The catching of cats for the market proved to be no exception to this rule. The strictest possible secrecy was maintained. It is therefore not unreasonable to assume that the commissariat obtained its supplies elsewhere than from the homes of the partners. It was at this particular time that Elder Woodruff's Jersey cow was guilty of an unaccountable shrinkage in milk; and as foraging in the enemy's country is held to be permissible in time of extremity, perhaps— But there was no proof.

Business was good; and by closing time on Wednesday the firm had in stock ten high-grade, hand-picked stray cats. But Thursday passed without a haul. Likewise Friday morning. The conclusion that the stray cat had become extinct was more than once hinted at. And, while no formal campaign against the pet cat was inaugurated, Sube returned from lunch bearing in his arms a hirsute beauty that might easily have claimed descent from the Shah of Persia. A short time afterwards Gizzard carelessly sauntered in with an Angora kitten.

Sube's offering, which was large and portly, instantly reminded Gizzard of Mrs. Rude's Snowdrop; but he reflected that all white cats look more or less alike and refrained from making any mention of the likeness. He also neglected to say that he had found his contribution on the walk in front of Nancy Guilford's house. He reasoned that cats do not ordinarily play around in the street in front of their owner's homes. He had heard that somebody had given Nancy a kitten, but reports are likely to be exaggerated. And while Gizzard had always suspected that there was something between Sube and Nancy, it came to him now with compelling force that he had never been told anything about it; and perhaps he understood that mere inferences are not regarded as the best evidence by the authorities.

And when partners begin to keep things from each other the breakers are usually not far away.