Up to the time that Biscuit struck the water he had uttered no outcry. He had perfect confidence in his ability to swim and accordingly took the affair in the light of a rough joke. But when he came to the surface after his initial ducking he uttered a piercing shriek and went down again.

"He can't swim a stroke!" cried Sube as he hurriedly swam towards the spot where Biscuit had disappeared.

When Biscuit came up the second time Sube grabbed him by the hair, and with the assistance of Gizzard towed him to shore. He was soon stretched out on the grassy slope, head downwards to insure better drainage. And even before the water was all out of him he gulped out spasmodically:

"I can swim all right, only they threw me in upside down! I ain't learned to swim that way yet!"

"You're all right, Biscuit!" Sube assured him. "You can swim like a fish!"

"Sure I can!... Didn't I swim to shore?"

"Well, you're here, ain't you? How could you get here if you didn't swim? When you go home you tell your mother you can swim like a fish, or she'll never let you come down here again."

"Well, I can, can't I?"

"Sure you can; just exactly."

"Then that's what I'll tell her."

"And you better not say an'thing about those big fellers helpin' you into the water, either," Sube advised.

"Oh, I have to tell her everybody I play with!" exclaimed Biscuit piously, "if she asks me."

"All right," muttered Sube, "if you call that playin'."

"But what'll I tell her 'bout my clo's bein' all wet?" asked Biscuit.

"Tell her you left 'em too near the bank, and they got pushed in—"

"Oh! I wouldn't tell my mother a lie for anything!"

"Lie? That's no lie! If you'd left 'em back there in the bushes they wouldn't of got in the water, now would they?"

"Oh, no! Not if I'd left 'em way back there."

"So you did leave 'em too near the water, jus' as I said!"

Biscuit blinked in wordless approval.

That evening while Seth Bissett and Warren Sours with a number of their associates were enjoying their evening dip, a hooked stick slowly reached out from the nearby shrubbery, and having become attached to one of the many articles of wearing apparel lying on the grass, drew it gently into the bushes. After a moment it was restored in the same way and another article taken. After this had gone on for some time the stick disappeared and was seen no more.

When the swimmers came out of the water at the approach of darkness it was apparent that something had gone wrong. An aroma that could not be wholly disregarded made known its undesirable presence. At first it seemed to be located somewhere about the grass plot, but as they finished dressing and started for home they discovered that it was apparently everywhere.

On the way Seth Bissett tarried for a friendly chat at the gate of a certain young lady, but found her unusually distant. So much so that in spite of his innocence of the cause, he deemed it prudent not to prolong his visit. Warren Sours went home; and as he entered the house with a jocular remark about the contaminated state of the atmosphere he was informed that until his arrival it had been quite satisfactory. Retirement to the stable followed; and with the aid of a lantern he finally found in each of his hip pockets a pasty smear, that from the presence of a small piece of tinfoil in addition to certain other deductions, he took to be the remnants of a piece of superannuated limburger cheese. Further evidences were found inside his hatband, and under the innersole of each of his shoes, but not until several days later.

Subsequent inquiry developed that none of the persons at the pool that night had been spared, although no two were attacked in the same place. Two days elapsed before Seth Bissett found a thin layer of the "dreadful" inside the lining of his favorite necktie, and in the meantime he had nearly hated himself to death. It was a week before Chuck Smith located a smear in the back of his watchcase, and during all that time he was haunted by a suspicion that he was no longer good company for man or beast. After changing his entire wardrobe several times in an effort to forget that fatal swim, Bob Beach found when he had occasion to use his purse a few days later that all his money, though honestly earned, had become badly tainted.

Nobody seemed to be able to account for the mysterious attack. Some of the swimmers accused each other, only to arouse vigorous denial, and there was no proof. But Seth Bissett had his suspicions, and they were well founded.

If Mrs. Cane had known of the pollution that swept over the swimming-hole that night, she would doubtless have supposed that Sube was attacked in common with the others; for he came home reeking of a loathsome odor that he was unable to account for. But, of course, Mrs. Cane heard little of the swimming-hole gossip.

"What have you been doing!" she exclaimed as Sube came into the room.

"Never mind about that," growled his father. "Where are you going just about as fast as you can get there!"

Sube looked from one of his parents to the other in utter surprise. "What have I done now?" he asked.

"Heaven only knows!" Mr. Cane exploded. "But do get out of this room with it!"

"With what?" asked the amazed boy, holding out his empty hands. "I ain't got an'thing."

Mr. Cane mangled the air with gestures of futility while his wife laid aside her embroidery and stood up.

"You've got something on you that doesn't smell very good. Come with—"

"Doesn't smell very good!" repeated Mr. Cane sarcastically. "Of all the feeble language! I can describe it for you in one short word!"

"Sam-u-el! Don't be vulgar! You run along to the bathroom, Sube. We'll try a little ammonia."

"Ammonia!" jeered Mr. Cane. "Am-mo-nia! You'd better boil him in muriatic acid and bury him for three weeks! A little ammonia," he repeated as he stood up and opened another window. Then his curiosity got the better of him. "Sube," he called, "I want to ask you a few questions—but you needn't come back here! Stop right there where you are."

A scowl of suspicion came over Sube's face as he halted and turned towards the author of his existence.

"Where have you been this evening?" his father began.

"Nowheres—jus' playin' round."

"Round where? Round what?"

"Jus' round here everyplace. I couldn't tell—"

"Well, tell me one place."

"Sir?—Why out in the back yard."

"Where else?"

"Why,—we went over in Bowers' back yard."

A ray of light came over Mr. Cane's stern visage as he asked, "You weren't playing garbage-man, were you?"

"No! sir!" exclaimed Sube with a look of outraged innocence.

"Where else did you play?" asked his father.

"Where else?—Why—out in the street."

"Well, where else?"

"Over on the back street."

"Well," Mr. Cane was glowering now, "where else?"

"Over on the other street by the coalyard."

"And what game were you playing in all these different streets?" demanded the inquisitor who was now showing signs of irritation.

"Oh, different games. First we'd play one game awhile, and then another—"

"You weren't playing sewer inspector, were you?"

"No, sir," muttered the boy as he made a mental note of two games he had never tried, but would at the first opportunity.

"Haven't you any idea where you got into this unspeakable effluvium?" demanded his father with ill-restrained petulance.

"No, sir; not unless I might of got it up by the church. I was playin' round up there part of the time, and I noticed some'pm smelled kind o' funny, but I couldn't find out—"

"All right. Go on. Get the stuff off from you if you can—but don't come in here again to-night!"

Sube moved on to the bathroom, where he found that his mother had drawn a bowl of hot water into which she had put a generous quantity of ammonia and a scrubbing-brush. But after superintending the operation for a short time from a point over near the window, she retired, leaving Sube to his own devices. As soon as she was gone he let out the ammonia water on the ground that it interfered with his breathing, and hurriedly rinsing his hands in plain cold water wiped them on the bath mat (as his father afterward discovered) and slipped down the back stairs to rejoin his companions in the yard for a good ol' game of rat tail.