Sube Cane had never heard life defined as just one certain kind of thing after another, but he knew that it was so; for so he had found it. And, when, a few days after the final performance of Ten Knights in a Barroom, he had turned the house upside down hunting for his Wild West hat only to learn that his mother had given it away a few days before, he felt the tragedy of existence as never before.

"Gave it away!" he gasped in stricken tones. "What'd you do that for?"

"Why, I had no idea that you wanted it," she replied; "it was always lying around in the way. You never wore it, and besides, it had a great hole through it."

Sube scowled. "Who'd you give it to?" he asked peevishly, with an insane idea of getting it back.

"To some women who were soliciting for the destitute Belgians," she answered. "You ought to be very glad to help such a worthy cause."

"What were their names?"

"I'm sure I don't know. They were representatives of the Red Cross Society who had come all the way down from Rochester."

And Sube went out of the house wronged and brooding, and threw himself down on the grass near the kitchen door, where Gizzard joined him a short time later.

"Now, what do you know about that, Giz?" growled Sube, as Gizzard jumped up and caught a limb of the apple tree and started to skin the cat. "They went and gave away my Wild West hat."

Although the cat was only partially skinned, Gizzard delayed the operation long enough to remark that it was no great loss anyway.

"I guess you don't know the hat I mean," returned Sube warmly. "I mean the hat that Buffalo Bill wore in the Indian fight, and got a bullet-hole through!"

Gizzard dropped to the ground. "If you mean that ol' felt hat you found on the Fair Grounds the day after the circus," he said without mercy, "I know that one."

The authenticity of this hat had long been disputed; and even now, after it was gone, Gizzard was unwilling to concede to it any of the virtues with which Sube's imagination had clothed it. And in addition to this, Gizzard had grievances of his own. The solicitors had by no means passed him by.

"You needn't think you're the only one," he complained. "My mother went and give away the best pair of ol' pants I had. She gave 'em to the sufferin' Belgiums."

"Huh!" snorted Sube disdainfully. "Nothin' but an ol' pair of pants! What's an ol' pair of pants, anyway? Everybody's got an ol' pair of pants to give away; but let me tell you they won't get another genuwine hat that Buffalo Bill wore with a hole shot through!"

But the former occupant of the pants refused to have them lightly treated. "Let me tell you that them pants wasn't to be sneezed at!" he retorted. "They was the best ol' pants I ever had. You never seen such pockets in your life—great big, deep fellers, and a little secret money-pocket—"

Reference to this secret pocket reminded Sube of something. "You mean those gray pants with the buckle on the back and all the suspender buttons on 'em?" he interrupted.

"Yep, the very ones," replied Gizzard, pleased that his apparel should have made such an impression on his friends. "'Member 'em?"

"You bet I remember 'em!" cried Sube enthusiastically. "That's the pair we used to sing the song about—'Papa's Pants Will Soon Fit Gizzie!'"

"Well," returned Gizzard defiantly, "they wasn't an ol' felt hat that a horse had stepped on, anyway."

The allusion was somewhat pointed, but Sube did not follow the matter up. Instead, he asked amicably, "Who did the beggin' over to your house?"

"A couple of ladies from Rochester," answered Gizzard. "I didn't see 'em, but that's what Ma said."

"That's jus' what I thought," muttered Sube as he practiced "jumping the fence" with his jackknife, and at the same time turned an idea over in his mind. Presently it came out. "Look 'ere, Giz," he said, "if a couple of ladies can come down here from Rochester and get away with a lot of stuff, what's the reason we can't go around and get hold of some good things?"

"They wouldn't give 'em to us."

"Not if we said they was for the sufferin' Belgiums?" demanded Sube. "I'll betcha they would!"

"But what do we want of a lot of ol' women's clo's and hats and things, and ol' men's shoes?" asked Gizzard.

"Sell 'em to the second-hand man!" howled Sube jubilantly. "He'll buy anything, and pay us good cash money for it, too! But," he added after a moment, "we won't sell 'em any of the ol' men's shoes, 'cause I can wear 'em. I got good big feet on me; I can wear any man's shoe!"

Gizzard glanced quickly down at Sube's feet, and then at his own; then he gave a disdainful grunt. "Bet my feet are as big as yours," he declared, "if not bigger."

"Aw, come off," retorted Sube. "You got reg'lar little baby-feet."

"Is that so!" demanded Gizzard belligerently. "I'll measure up with you any ol' time." And he planted one of his feet alongside of Sube's in such a way that the toe of his own shoe extended slightly beyond that of his competitor. "There!" he howled exultantly. "What'd I tell you?"

Sube shoved him away forcefully, at the same time muttering, "Cheater! There was room enough for your other foot back there by my heel."

"Beater!" shouted Gizzard lustily.

"Cheater!" responded Sube as lustily.

"Beater!"

"Cheater!"

This shouting was continued for some time with the regularity of a couple of canvasmen driving a tent stake, each of the contestants firmly believing that the first one to give up would be the loser. But Annie declared the argument a draw by suddenly opening the screen door and throwing cold water—a pail of it—on the contestants.

As soon as they had retired to a safe distance Gizzard started to renew the argument, but Sube refused to go on with it. "Listen here, Giz," he said, "we could keep on chewin' about it all night, and wouldn't prove an'thing. The only way to do is wait till we get a pair of good ol' man-size shoes, and then we'll try 'em on, and the one they fit the best has got the biggest feet. What's the matter of that?"

"I'll go you!" replied Gizzard with enough spirit to show that he had no fear of the outcome. "But how do we know they'll give us any men's shoes?"

"We'll ask for 'em," replied Sube with a great show of assurance.

"What'll we say?"

"We'll say we're collectin' for the sufferin' Belgiums, and that they need ol' men's shoes awful bad. And if they've got any, they'll give 'em to us."

"And what if they ast us where we're takin' the things to?" asked Gizzard.

"We'll tell 'em our mothers are the committee, and that we're takin' the things to our house; and that we are jus' runnin' errands for 'em."

And so the thing was done. Their first call netted them two gingham aprons and a faded morning dress of a type the boys called "wrappers" and a woman's hat, untrimmed. Their next brought them several pairs of women's shoes in an advanced state of dilapidation. This offering had really been made ready for the rubbish-man, but the donor thought that if the Belgians could use it, they were welcome to it.

"We better sling all this junk away," suggested Gizzard as they reached the street.

"Sling it away!" cried Sube. "Well, I guess not! This is as good as money to us; the second-hand man will buy every bit of it!"

"What'll you gimme for my share?" asked Gizzard skeptically.

"Oh, you wait," was Sube's evasive reply; "you jus' wait till that little ol' second-hand man comes round, and then you'll be glad we didn't sling it away. We'll have more money than we know what to do with!"

Of course, at the moment, neither of the boys knew how literally true this prediction was to turn out. In fact, Gizzard's reply was little more than a dubious muttering to the effect that they'd better "dump the dern' stuff at the barn" before stopping anywhere else.

Sube refused to do this. "'Tain't the best way," he argued. "The best way is to have our arms all full of stuff when we go to a house, and then they'll think we're genuwine, and give us more."

And Sube was right. The mere sight of the "wrapper" reminded the next lady of the house they called on, that she had one she could spare. And before long the stock of "wrappers" was quite complete, with sizes full, and a wide range of patterns to select from.

Then suddenly there came from the clear sky, so to speak, the most splendid offering of the day: a silken slumber-robe of stunning checkerboard design, and trimmed with a shimmering band of panne velvet.

True, there were coffee stains on the front and paint stains on the back, but it was a gorgeous garment. And the suggestive effect of it was wonderful; for the first door at which Sube knocked after he had hung the slumber-robe over his arm, responded with a man's suit of gambler's-plaids that could have been suggested by nothing else.

And with the plaid suit came a crimson vest with a set of brass buttons that was nearly complete. The combined effect of the slumber-robe and the suit and the vest drew from the next place a pair of men's lemon-colored shoes with moth-eaten cloth tops—and before the members of the Belgian relief committee had reached the sidewalk they were in a turmoil.

The shoes had been handed to Gizzard; but the moment Sube got his eyes on them he politely offered to relieve Gizzard of the burden.

"You got your hands full, there, Giz," he said; "I'll take those shoes."

"Never mind," replied Gizzard, brushing hurriedly by. "I can handle 'em all right."

But Sube insisted. "I ain't got much of a load," he prevaricated, reaching towards the shoes and dropping one or two of the things he was carrying. "I'll take 'em."

"I don't think you will," growled Gizzard. "I'll keep 'em myself. She give 'em to me! And besides, they're too big for you."

"I ain't afraid of that," returned Sube angrily. "All I'm 'fraid of is that they ain't big enough."

As he said this he suddenly dropped his burden on the ground and made a grab for the shoes.

"No, you don't!" howled Gizzard, dropping his own burden and jumping back. But he was too late; Sube had already snatched one of the shoes and was reaching for the other. A struggle ensued, each boy holding fast to the shoe he already had and trying to get possession of the other; but it was of short duration. For each boy realized that he could not overpower the other without the unrestricted use of both hands.

As suddenly as it had started, the struggling stopped, and each boy dropped on the grass and began to remove a shoe preparatory to putting his half of the bone of contention in the only safe place he could think of. And at practically the same instant both were back on their feet again ready to resume the struggle. But the hopelessness of holding one end of an evenly matched opponent while removing a shoe from the other end became apparent to both; and muttering things about "showing" each other they took up their burdens, and still muttering, made their way back to "headquarters."