"I can't understand how any one would DARE to use my name in such an unwarranted way," murmured Mrs. Cane as the limousine got under way.

"Oh, my dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Potter. "They dare do anything these days. If they have stopped at merely using your name, you are to be congratulated. They have probably forged your signature and exhibited your photograph all over town."

The idea was very distasteful to Mrs. Cane. "I should hate to think of those awful men—they were men, weren't they?"

"I didn't see them myself," replied Mrs. Potter, "but it seems to me that Celeste said they were boys."

Mrs. Cane started perceptibly. "Boys?" she gasped.

"Why, yes; I'm sure that's what she said," returned Mrs. Potter. "But if you want to trace them, that silk slumber-robe ought to be a great help. There isn't another like it in this country. Picked it up in Paris, you know; soft, clingy silk crÊpe in large checks of black and white, and the most gorgeous panne velvet border!"

This opportunity was too good for Mrs. Rice to overlook. She had personally handed out the lemon-colored shoes, and had recognized the solicitors beyond peradventure. "If you should inquire around among the victims, dearie," she drawled out with carefully stimulated lack of interest, "you might find somebody who could identify them."

At that moment the car drew up at the curb and came to a stop. Mrs. Cane glanced out and exclaimed, "What! Home already!— But what is the crowd? Oh, I hope our house isn't on fire!"

As she struggled hurriedly out of the limousine without waiting for the assistance of FranÇois, the other passengers craned their necks to see what the excitement was. And as they looked, a startling checkered device that was instantly recognized as Mrs. Potter's slumber-robe fluttered out over the heads of the jostling multitude, where it waved proudly for a moment, and was then gathered back into the hands of an individual standing on the top of a rudely constructed counter about which the crowd was clustered.

And as he spread the silken folds over his arm so that all might see it to better advantage, he began to cry out in the loud voice of an auctioneer:

"One dollar, one dollar, one dollar—one dollar, one dollar, one dollar—I am offered only one dollar for this be-e-eautiful garment that a certain rich lady—you all know her—bought in the large city of Rochester; I am offered only one dollar, one dollar, one dollar—she told me herself only this morning that it cost FIVE!—and yet I am offered only one dollar, one dollar, one dollar, ONE DOLLAR!—I will put it back in stock before I will sell it for such a ridic'lous figger. You don't know what you're missin'."

He slung it on a line stretched above his head, and turning to a corps of assistants who were waiting on a clamoring public (composed of neighborhood domestics and Italians from across the railroad tracks), sang out:

"Hand up something else, men! We must slaughter this stock to aid the sufferin' Belgiums! We must aid the dessolute Belgiums!"—and he held up a pink "wrapper."—"Now, what am I offered to start this to aid the dessolute—"

The crowd parted, and fell back on either side, opening up a passage for a woman in white who went rapidly towards the counter, in front of which she came to a stop.

At the sight of her, patrons of the sale tucked their purchases under their coats and departed in haste, and the auctioneer paused with his mouth open as if a word had stuck halfway out. The pink "wrapper" fell from his nerveless hand, and the gambler's-plaids in which he was clad became as slack and empty-looking as a fallen tent. Everything about him seemed to wilt except his remarkable shoes; and they were as long, and as large, and as liver-shaped after her coming as before.

For one long minute she gazed at the auctioneer; and as she gazed the clerks vanished, the multitude melted away, the auctioneer slid down from his perch and shuffled towards the house, and the limousine gnashed its gears, cleared its throat, and swept down the street. And all that was left was the unspeakable litter incident to a successful rummage-sale, the boxes and boards of the improvised counter, a few odds and ends of stock, and above all, fluttering in the breeze, the gorgeous slumber-robe that Mrs. Potter had picked up in Paris.

A riot-call over the telephone summoned Mr. Cane and a couple of huskies to the scene. And while the huskies demolished the second-hand store and tucked it somewhere out of sight, Mr. Cane did likewise with Sube.

The next day Gizzard made his appearance at the Cane home at an early hour. But he did not yodel in the yard or whistle under the window. Instead, he walked decorously up to the front door and rang the bell.

When Annie opened the door and saw who the caller was, she was somewhat put out. "How many times have I got to tell you boys—" she began crossly.

But Gizzard did not quail. He had hardened himself for an ordeal, and the encounter with Annie was as nothing to him. "I wanta see M's Cane," he said with quiet dignity.

Annie was so impressed by his demeanor that she stopped her tirade and ushered him into the library. Then she went to call her mistress. In due time Mrs. Cane came.

Gizzard stood up and strained at his cap as if he expected to find his voice in the lining, for it was strangely missing. For a moment Mrs. Cane watched him with amusement. Then she took pity on him.

"You came over to apologize, didn't you, Charley?" she said kindly. "Well, it's all right; I accept your apology. I am sure you boys didn't realize what you were doing, or you never would have done what you did yesterday. But, of course you understand that you and Seward must return to the rightful owners everything that is left; and I think that perhaps you will want to be doing it right away. Seward is waiting for you in the barn."

Gizzard's eyes spoke eloquently of his gratitude; but his voice went back on him. For all he could say as he moved circuitously towards the door was, "Goo'-by."

When Gizzard went into the barn a moment later he found Sube standing in an attitude of dejection before a heap of cast-off shoes and clothing on the floor.

"Hello, Sube," he said humbly.

"Hello, Giz."

"What'd she do to you yest'day?"

"She only locked me in the closet."

"What'd your dad do?"

"Plenty much. What'd you catch?"

Gizzard twitched uncomfortably at the recollection. "First, Ma licked me and sent me to bed without any supper, and when Pa come home he said it wasn't enough; so he licked me again and tol' me I'd haf to come over and 'pologize to your mother."

Sube brightened up at once. "Let's go do it now," he suggested.

"Ya-a-ah! I've done it!"

"Gee, I'd like to been there to heard you. What'd she say?"

"Oh,—she didn't say so much," replied Gizzard importantly. "She took it all right."

"There wasn't much left to say," muttered Sube. "She'd said it all to me."

"Well," Gizzard sighed, "she did say we'd got to take this stuff back. But"—he added in a lower tone—"she didn't say nuthin' 'bout the dough. How much was they, anyway?"

Sube glanced cautiously about before he answered, "Twenty dollars and seventeen cents!"

Gizzard's jaw fell. "Gosh all hemlock!" he gasped. "What'll we ever do with it?"

Sube shook his head hopelessly. "Dern'd if I know," he muttered.

"Where'd you put it?"

"Up there." Sube pointed to the place over the door where he had hidden the candle the night they started for the Mexican border. "Want to see it?"

"Not on your life I don't. I don't want nuthin' to do with it!"

Sube sighed. It seemed as if his troubles would never end. "Well," he said finally, "we might as well be takin' this stuff back."

"You know where it all goes?" asked Gizzard.

Sube poked the pile of clothing with his foot. "That pink one's Miss Mandeville's, and that blue and white thing b'longs to Hubbell's. Where'd that green sweater come from? You brought that in."

And so they went on for some time. They sorted out and put in one pile all articles that they were able to identify. The others were left in a heterogeneous mass that was a good deal of a problem to them until they happened to think of some rubbish-barrels a short distance up the alley. And there the second-hand man found them a few days later.

The boys had not been specifically instructed as to what explanation was to be made to the property owners at the time of making restitution, so they took that matter into their own hands. The formula adopted was something like this:

"There was a mistake made about some of these things, and the committee asked us to bring them back and say thank you very much." And the messenger dashed away without waiting long enough for any complications to arise.

But throughout the period of restoration, the lemon-colored shoes had been conspicuously absent. Sube did not overlook this fact, but he was a little sensitive about speaking of the matter for fear of causing Gizzard undue embarrassment. And, doubtless for the same reason, Gizzard forebore making any comment about the absence of the shoes last seen on Sube at the time of the auction. Perhaps each partner assumed that the other had gone by himself and made restoration. But in any event, neither the one pair nor the other was ever seen in public again.

But in a little cubby-hole above the barn-door was something not so easily disposed of. It made no sound; it had no perceptible odor; and yet, every time the boys went into the barn they were reminded of it. Twenty dollars and seventeen cents has more ways than one to make its presence known.

Sube treated it with supreme indifference; he would not so much as glance up at the hiding-place. But Gizzard was more impressionable, for suddenly he cried out:

"I wisht the dern stuff was in Halifax!"

"I wisht it was," muttered Sube; "but it ain't. And it's a lot of money."

"It's more'n I ever want to see again!" exclaimed Gizzard warmly. After a moment of silence he cried, "Hey, Sube, why not give it to the Sunday School?"

Sube shook his head. The impropriety of giving tainted money to the church occurred to him at once, but Gizzard's suggestion to give it away had put an idea into his mind. "What's the reason we can't send it back to the gover'ment?" he asked. "We could put it in an envelope and mail it to the President."

"What's the President got to do with it?" demanded Gizzard.

"Well, the gover'ment made it, didn't it? And the President's the same as the gover'ment, ain't he?"

In common with a number of other people, Gizzard was not sure about this. He said he would have to ask his father. And at this point the bell rang to summon Sube to his midday meal. As the boy seated himself at the table his father asked:

"Have you returned all those things that were out in the barn?"

"Yes, Papa," answered the boy quietly. "We took them all back."

"Well, what did you do with the money?" Mr. Cane inquired. "You must have taken in some money."

"We haven't done an'thing with it—yet."

"What are you going to do with it?" asked the merciless inquisitor.

"Why,—why, we were thinking about sending it to the President, so he could put it back in the treasury."

"Conscience money, eh?" demanded Mr. Cane. "Well, it's a great relief to discover that you have a conscience. But why don't you satisfy your conscience by devoting it to the purpose for which you raised it?"

Sube looked up at his father with an expression of ineffable relief. "Could we do that?" he asked breathlessly.

"Why not?" replied Mr. Cane. "By the way, how much was there?"

"Twenty dollars and seventeen cents."

Mr. Cane uttered a low, long whistle. "And the auction was only half over when it was raided!" he murmured. "Mother, you ought to let this boy handle the next charity bazaar for the church."