RUMORS OF FRAUD
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.
[Illustration]
The magnitude of the offer aroused the suspicions of the second-hand man
at once. "Dot's a good deal," he muttered; "it's too mooch, altogedder
too mooch."
"Too much?" cried Sube. "How do you know it's too much? We haven't told
you what we wanted yet?"
The second-hand man shook his head many times as he repeated slowly,
"Altogedder too mooch."
"We'll sell it awful cheap," said Sube anxiously.
The buyer continued to shake his head.
"We'll sell it for about half what it's worth."
Still the buyer shook his head.
"We'll sell it for less than that!" cried Sube in desperation. "We'll
sell it for anything! Make us an offer!"
That was enough for the representative of Mose Smolenski; now he _knew_
that something was wrong. "I make you no offers," he said, moving
towards the door; "y't'ink I vanta get ar-r-rested?"
Sube drew back in astonishment. "Arrested?" he gasped. "What for?"
The second-hand man shrugged his shoulders. "Vell, I donno. Mebbe you
buy it. Mebbe you steal it. I donno. I make no offers for dis
t'ings"--he waved a knotted hand towards the interior of the barn--"but
mebbe I buy dem shoes y'got on; how mooch y'vant for dem?"
With conscious pride Sube glanced down at his feet and replied, "They're
not for sale. It's the only pair I got that fits me."
The second-hand man turned away with another shrug of his rounded
shoulders. "Vell, if your popper or your mommer _he_ say all right, vy,
den ve talk pizness."
Sube was very much put out. "My popper and my mommer ain't got a dern
thing to do with this prope'ty," he growled. "It's mine, I tell you!"
"Vell, goo'-bye. Mebbe I come see you some odder day," said the
second-hand man smiling pleasantly through his sparse beard as he
started down the driveway.
The boys were still looking helplessly at each other when he climbed
into his ramshackle wagon and drove away. At last Sube burst out
angrily, "He thought we stole it! What do you know about that?"
"I know we got all this stuff on our hands," muttered Gizzard, "and I
wisht it was in Halifax!"
"But he thought we _stole_ it!" Sube persisted. "As if _we'd_ steal
an'thing."
"We didn't steal it," Gizzard agreed; "but here it _is_, and what are we
goin' to do with it? That's what I wanta know."
"We'll do something with it all right," Sube declared sullenly. "That
ol' second-hand man ain't the only one who can buy things."
"Well, what'll we do with it then?" asked Gizzard.
Sube made no immediate answer. He didn't know himself. But he felt an
idea coming, and he struggled hard to reach into the infinite and grasp
it.
And in the meantime, at an afternoon bridge given by Mrs. Prentice Y.
Prentice, Sube's mother had heard for the first time of the Belgian
relief work being carried on in her name.
"Oh, it can't be possible," she said; "somebody must have made a
mistake. Of course, I am thoroughly in sympathy with the Belgians, you
know; every one is. But, really, I haven't been able to find a moment to
devote to any such work."
"You haven't!" called Mrs. Potter from an adjoining table. "Why, my
dear! Your name was distinctly mentioned at our house. Celeste came
straight from the door and said that the messengers from Mrs. Cane had
come to see what I could give to the suffering Belgians. And I sent you
the most gorgeous silk slumber-robe, one that I picked up in Paris. Do
you mean to say that you never got it?"
Mrs. Cane was quite overcome. "Why, I never heard of such a thing!" she
exclaimed. "Who could have done such an underhanded trick?"
"Some swindlers, without a doubt," Mrs. Rice put in. "Just to think of
making those poor Belgians the excuse for a lot of fraud. Why, I gave
them a beautiful pair of Mr. Rice's shoes, broadcloth tops, you know. I
don't know what he'll say when he finds they're gone; and if he should
ever discover that the Belgians didn't get them after all--well, I'd
never hear the last of it! And you know that Mrs. Van Auken who lives
next door--of course you don't _know_ her; I don't myself; but you know
who she is--well, I saw her handing out one of her husband's race-track
plaid suits. _That_ ought to be easy to trace!"
At every table Mrs. Cane found one or more victims of the fraud, and
little else was talked of wherever she was. When the party finally broke
up she was in a high state of agitation.
"You're all upset, dear," said Mrs. Potter who had come up to her in the
dressing room. "You must let me take you home in my new motor. The ride
will brace you up wonderfully."
"Oh, but that would take you out of your way," remonstrated Mrs. Cane as
unconvincingly as possible.
"But, my dear! What is a block or two to an imported motor?" Mrs. Potter
waved her fat hand deprecatingly. "Nothing; abs'lutely nothing! And
Francois controls that sixty horsepower motor as if it were a Shetland
pony. He's wonderful!"
And thus it happened that Mrs. Cane and Mrs. Rice, and one or two others
who lived in the same neighborhood were handed into Mrs. Potter's
purring limousine by the much-liveried Francois, and rolled off
majestically amid the ten-inch upholstery.