Sube was the first to enter the barn and deposit his load of cast-offs on the floor, and as Gizzard came shuffling along a short distance behind looking down at his mismated feet, Sube grunted:

"Umgh, I'm glad that shoe didn't fall off'm you 'fore you got here; it fits you like a cup on a pump."

Gizzard snorted with rage. "I'll show you how it fits," he threatened, "if you don't give me my other shoe! She give them shoes to me! She put 'em right in my hands, and they're mine!"

If Sube had been entertaining any ideas of taking the shoe from Gizzard by force, he did not show it, for when he spoke again his voice was calm and peaceful. "Listen here, Giz," he pleaded; "look at this bully gambler's suit. Jus' think of wearin' a suit like a feller that keeps a good tough pool hall! You gimme that other shoe, and I'll give you my share of this suit, and the red vest besides."

But Gizzard was not to be sidetracked. "What do I want of an ol' suit of clo's?" he demanded angrily. "I wouldn't give that shoe for a dozen of 'em! Now you gimme my shoe 'fore it falls off! She give that shoe to me, and it's mine!"

For a moment Sube hesitated; then he bent over and unbuttoned the lemon-colored shoe, and kicked it across the barn. "Take your ol' shoe!" he blurted out. "It's too small for me, anyway!"

"Ya-a-ah!" jeered Gizzard as he leaped after it. "Too small, nuthin'! Y'could of kicked it off without unbuttonin' it at all!"

"It pinched my foot, or you wouldn't have got it so easy," muttered Sube; "but let me tell you one thing, Mr. Gizzard—I get my pick of all the rest of the men's shoes we take in."

Gizzard felt that he could afford to be generous. "Sure you do," he assented readily. "But I can tell you that there won't be nuthin' to compare with these good ol' cloth-tops," he added as he finished buttoning the shoe which he had just put on, and began strutting up and down before Sube in a most tantalizing way.

This was too much for Sube, who stood up and pretended to yawn as he said, "Well, you better be gettin' 'em off so's we can go on collectin' things."

"Gettin' 'em off?" demanded Gizzard with an offended air. "I don't think I'll be gettin' 'em off. I'm goin' to wear 'em!"

"Wear those lookin' things in public?" sneered Sube. "Well, if you do, you'll go collectin' alone. I won't go with you."

"You bet I'll go alone," said Gizzard. "And we'll soon see who it is that gets all the best things." And he shuffled out of the barn and went his way.

"Remember, now," Sube called after him, "I get my first pick of all the men's shoes no matter who brings 'em in."

Gizzard nodded his head several times and started in an easterly direction. As soon as Sube saw which way Gizzard had gone, he picked up the slumber-robe and started in the opposite direction. He went by the most direct route to the home of one Achilles Whitney, a gentleman constructed on the lines of a white hope. But here he met with complete failure and withdrew empty handed.

Next he tried the residence of Mr. Silas Peck, an ex-sheriff and a man of some weight; but here he acquired nothing but an old derby hat and a quantity of feminine apparel, which he had now come to regard somewhat lightly.

His next stopping place was the door of Oliver Lyman, Esquire, another gentleman of Goliathic size. Here, as in other places visited by him alone, he made a special plea for men's shoes for the "sufferin' barefooted Belgiums" and he nearly died of joy when he saw the size of the pair the generous Mrs. Lyman handed out to him. He hurried back to headquarters at once, and there Gizzard found him a few minutes later, most fetchingly attired.

Sube had put on the pool-room suit and red vest, and in order to display the vest to the greatest advantage he had thrust his hands deep in the pants pockets. Gizzard was beginning to think that perhaps he had overlooked a bet on the suit, when he suddenly caught sight of the shoes. He stopped in his tracks and stood as if transfixed, motionless and speechless, while Sube was bustling around arranging some of the merchandise. And in spite of the mammoth size of the shoes he had on, Sube walked gracefully—almost naturally. But there was a reason for this; he had been foresighted enough to put Mr. Lyman's shoes on over his own. Yet how was Gizzard expected to know that?

For only a moment was the wearer of the lemon-colored shoes speechless; then he managed to stommer out, "S-S-Some s-s-shoes there, Sube. Where'd you ever dig 'em up?"

"These shoes?" Sube gave his partner a patronizing look. "Why, I was goin' past Lyman's, and I guess M's Lyman must of looked out of the window and seen how big my feet was, 'cause she come right to the door and called me. 'Seward,' she says, 'here's a pair of shoes I bought for Mr. Lyman in Rochester, and they're too big for him. He can't wear 'em; but I thought you might be able to wear 'em,' she says. So I tried 'em on, and they fit like the paper on the wall. How do you like 'em?"

Gizzard gazed enviously at the great flat, liver-shaped shoes his companion was wearing, and replied, "They're all right, only they're black. They don't match your suit as good as these here shoes of mine would."

"They match plenty good enough to suit me," Sube assured him; "and besides, those shoes of yours are too small for me."

"Too small!" howled Gizzard. "Why, you had 'em on jus' a little while ago!"

"Not both of 'em," replied Sube; "only one of 'em. And that's why I give it back. Didn't I tell you right then it was too small for me—?"

"Vell, you say coom dree o'clock," said a harsh voice behind them. "I coom; vat y'vanta sell?"

It was the buyer for Mose Smolenski, Everything New and Second-Hand Cheap for Cash.

Sube was the first to recover from his astonishment. "Why," he managed to get out after a struggle, "why, we want to sell all this prope'ty." He made a sweeping gesture that included not only the clothing contributed in the name of the "sufferin' Belgiums" but his father's new lawn-mower, piano-box, garden tools, and a pile of kindling wood.