The day after Biscuit joined the Ten Knights in a Barroom Company ol' Uncle George Bond succeeded in adjusting his loss with the insurance company and went back to Sodus. But he had wasted two weeks of his cherished vacation hanging around Morton's insurance office trying to make Bill Morton understand that smoke could damage a stock of shoes as well as fire or water. But ol' Uncle George was too much engrossed in explaining to the insurance adjuster how prejudiced the average person is against having his feet smell like smoke, to go near his barn; so he finished his vacation in total ignorance of the momentous events that had been transpiring there.

When it became known that he had gone back to Sodus the Ten Knights in a Barroom Company resumed work with feverish industry. With no other means of transportation at their disposal than a wheelbarrow with a wobbly wheel they moved to Stucky's barn the cider press and the precious cask with its more precious contents; they were going to take no more chances with fire. The entire morning was spent in preparing the stage for the first real dress rehearsal since their initial attempt.

The rehearsal was to begin immediately after lunch; and when Biscuit failed to report on time some anxiety was felt for the juvenile part, as his mother was unreasonably strict with him. It would have been just like her to lug him off to some ol' missionary business or other. However, it was not long before he came flying around the corner of the house, shouting as he ran:

"I've got a audience!—I've got a audience!—And it's some audience!"

A thrill swept the company. An audience had been the one thing lacking to make the production perfect, although nobody had thought of it before, so much "the thing" had the play been.

"Who is it? Who is it?" came the chorus.

"Mamma wasn't goin'ta let me come back," panted Biscuit, "'cause there's a meetin' of the Temp'rance Union at our house this aft, and when I tole her it would break up our show, she wanted to know what show and I tole her Ten Knights in a Barroom, and she said that was a temp'rance play and it was sweet of us to give it, and could they all come and see it and I tole her you bet they could!"

A spontaneous cheer went up, after which Sube asked:

"What time they comin'?"

"'Bout three o'clock, I tole her. Is that all right?"

"You bet it's all right; only we want to have a rehearsal, and have it dern' quick!"

Sube hastily donned his white apron and began to roll up his sleeves while the other players put on their various costumes. The rehearsal was soon in full blast. There were no preliminaries about this production: the action commenced at once. The bartender and his assistant began to pass out the foaming beakers to Cathead, and to Cottontop and Stucky (who took the parts of First Old Soak and Second Old Soak respectively), while Biscuit peered in at the door, pleading piteously with his drunken father (Cathead) to come home with him. All except Biscuit feigned drunkenness, not even excluding the bartender and his assistant.

In due time Cathead gruffly bade the child to come in and have a little liquor. A second invitation was unnecessary. After his first drink the child, too, feigned intoxication.

As the rehearsal proceeded it was apparent to everybody that the play was a hit. Each actor was overwhelmed by the tremendous success of his own part. And contrary to all expectation Biscuit made a prominent feature of what had been regarded as a minor part. After a little the barefoot lad in ragged garb not only urged his parent to accompany him home, but became so insistent about it that he actually ejected the old gentleman several times, triumphantly returning between the bouts for more liquor.

Then Biscuit became confused about the identity of his father and pleaded with Stucky instead. When Stucky remonstrated, Biscuit not only waxed urgent but simply would not take no for an answer, and for the first time in his life he put Stucky on his back, and then dragged him off the stage howling. This act was repeated at will.

At about that time Cathead, who was usually very shy and retiring, became so fascinated by Biscuit's portrayal of the child character that he decided to try it for himself. He addressed his first pleadings to Cottontop, who rather resented them; and Cathead deemed it advisable to take his intended father down and sit on him. Flushed with success, he did likewise to Gizzard. This was something of a novelty to Cathead. In affairs of this kind he had seldom done the sitting.

The popularity of the child character grew. Every member of the company took a hand in it. And when the putative parent remonstrated, as he invariably did, being at the moment engaged in pleading with some one else, a struggle would ensue.

Sube was attempting to plead with Gizzard, who was at the moment pleading with Cathead; Cathead had just finished pleading with Cottontop and was engaged in taking him down to sit on him; Cottontop did not care to be sat on just then as he was in the act of pleading with Stucky; and as Stucky was pleading with Biscuit and did not want to be pleaded with, he resented Cottontop's advances. And they had fallen in a confused heap on the floor, pleading, yelling, struggling and straining, with Biscuit standing over them asserting in stentorian tones his identity as the only genuine ragpicking pleader in the lot—when the ladies of the Temperance Union, led by Biscuit's mother, entered the theater.

The actors were so engrossed in what they were doing that they did not hear the startled cries of the audience. In fact, they had no idea that their audience had arrived until they felt themselves being pulled apart and separated into individuals.

Biscuit was the first one to be separated from the mass, but he gave his mother no sign of recognition until she had obtained a firm grip on his ear and informed him in biting tones that she had never expected to see the day when she would find him fighting like a drunken rowdy.

Then he cried joyously, with partly feigned intoxication:

"Hello, ma, ol' girl! I sure didn't know you! I'm glad you got here in time to shee me plead! The rest of these kids think they can plead azh good azh I can, but they can't! They can't plead worth a darn!"

Mrs. Westfall relinquished her hold on the ear as if it had been a hot coal. Her jaw fell. Her breath came with difficulty. The leering face, the disrespect, the profanity! It was more than she could bear. She was shocked. She was humiliated! She was dumfounded!

Quite unmindful of his mother's presence Biscuit lurched towards the gasping members of her temperance flock and called out invitingly:

"Have a little liquor, ladies! Then I'll plead for you! Hey, bartender!"—he stalked over and prodded Sube with his foot—"Wake up there, and 'tend to your customers!"

"Don't touch me," growled Sube. "I'm an awful sick boy!"

"Shick! Who's shick? You?—Aw, come off! You're only playin' up!" bawled Biscuit. "You wazh laughin' louder'n anybody a minute ago!"

But the truth of Sube's assertion was soon apparent to all. He was undeniably sick. And the mere sight of his distress seemed to have an unfavorable effect on the other thespians, for one by one they were seized with similar spasms. Biscuit, who was the last to succumb, was the sickest of all. His moans were the loudest, his convulsions the most violent, his cramps the most griping.

Somebody had the presence of mind to run for Dr. Richards, but he was not in his office. Efforts to get in touch with any of the other physicians in town failed. They were all at the hospital watching the performance of a rare operation by an eminent surgeon from a nearby city. So the women of the Temperance Union helped the stricken boys to their respective homes as best they could, that being considered the proper place to die.

That it was a case of wholesale poisoning was readily apparent to all but the victims. And each mother upon receiving her writhing son, put into practise her idea of first aid to the poisoned. Stucky Richards' mother tried the stomach pump without fatal results. Mrs. Sigsbee used a mustard plaster on Cottontop's abdomen and camphor on his temples with about equal success. Biscuit's mother prayed; but rather for her son's forgiveness than his recovery.

The Cane boys were put to bed and compelled to drink several quarts of tepid soapsuds while their father was rushing home from the office.

"What have you been eating?" he demanded breathlessly when, at last, he reached Sube's bedside.

"Nu—nu—nuthin'," Sube managed to gulp out.

"Now think hard," urged Mr. Cane sternly. "You must have eaten something or you wouldn't be so sick. Think hard! What did you eat this afternoon, all you boys together?"

"Nu—nu—nuthin'," was Sube's hopeless response.

"Now take your time," said Mr. Cane more soothingly. "Think over everything you did this afternoon—everywhere you went—and I'm sure you'll be able to remember eating something! Doesn't that remind you of something?"

"Nu—nu—no, I told you!" sobbed Sube hoarsely, taking advantage of his sickness to indulge in a little impertinence.

But his father overlooked it and tried another method of interrogation. "Where did you go right after lunch?" he asked.

"Uh—uh—over to Stu—Stucky Richards'."

"All right. You went over to Stucky's after lunch. Then what did you do?" Mr. Cane was going about it as he usually approached an unwilling witness.

"Pu—pu—played."

"You played! All right. What did you play?"

"Tu—Tu—Ten Knights in a Bu—Bu—Bar-room."

"What's that!" gasped Mr. Cane.

"I tu—tu—told you once!"

"All right—all right—how did you play it?" asked the frantic parent.

"It tu—takes too lu—lu—long to tell—"

A serious spasm prevented any further questioning for some moments. Then Mr. Cane tried again.

"What part did you take in this game?"

"It wu—wu—wasn't a game!"

"Well, what was it?"

"It was a mu—mu—mellerdrammer!"

Sube's father was becoming desperate. He had tried kindness without effect. Something must be done before it was too late. Perhaps intimidation would get something out of the boy.

"Sube," he began sternly, "I may as well tell you that you have been poisoned by something you have put into your stomach! If you will only tell me what it is perhaps I can save your life! If not, there's no telling what may happen! Now, what have you been eating this afternoon?"

But Sube was in the state where he would not thank anybody for saving his life. His response was listless.

"Nu—nu—nuthin'."

At this moment Mrs. Cane, who with Annie had been in constant attendance at the bedside of Cathead, whose malady seemed to be much more active than Sube's, came into the room.

"What did you do with the ten-pound sack of sugar Annie says you carried off?" she asked desperately.

It was necessary to repeat the question several times before she succeeded in obtaining a reply.

"Pu—pu—put it in the su—su—cider," Sube finally confessed.

"Cider!" cried Mr. Cane exultantly. "Have you been drinking cider?"

"A lu—lu—little."

"Where did you boys get cider?"

"Mu—mu—made it."

"Made it!" Mr. Cane could not believe his ears. "Made it? How could you boys make cider?"

The process was soon explained. But Mr. Cane was still in doubt. It seemed incredible that a little sweet cider could bring about such disastrous results.

"How much did you drink?" he asked at length.

"Just a lu—lu—little."

"But what was the sugar for?" Mrs. Cane persisted.

"Why, whu—when we made the cider it was swu—swu—sweet; but when we went to du—du—drink it, it was su—su—sour! So we put the shu—shu—sugar in it!"

"When did you make it?" asked his father.

"About tu—tu—two weeks ago—"

"T-w-o w-e-e-k-s!" gasped Mr. Cane as he fell across the bed in a state of total collapse. "Two weeks!—And hot weather at that!"

The telephone rang. Mr. Cane answered.

"Hello!" he called. "That you, doctor?"

"——"

"Stomach pump? No, I guess not. They're about half-full of tepid soapsuds just now, and they seem to be doing very well without any pump at all."

Then Mr. Cane listened for a long time chuckling softly. At last he said:

"Well, don't operate, doctor! I've found your poison!"

"——"

"Hard cider!"