mask. And she began to seek his forgiveness for having called him a kid; and with a continuous crossing of her heart she promised over and over that she would never again refer to the fact that she was two years older than he.

"That's all right, Nance," he condescended to say; "we'll let that go. But if you want to have a man with a mustache for a fellow, you've got to promise that you'll never speak to Biscuit Westfall again as long as you live—"

But before Nancy's promise could be recorded, cruel footsteps intruded upon the vision. And slipping the bottle under his coat Sube retired to the barn, where he made the first fragrant application to his upper lip, and then retired to the roof, where there would be plenty of ventilation while he rubbed it in.

And here Gizzard Tobin found him a short time afterwards, to Sube's intense discomfiture, for the young mustache-raiser was caught like a rat in a trap and with no adequate explanation for smelling to heaven. Sube did not overwhelm his caller with the warmth of his welcome.

Gizzard noted the lack of cordiality, and with all the directness of his twelve years started in to probe it to the bottom.

"Been gettin' a lickin'?" he inquired as he seated himself in front of his companion.

"No, I ain't," grunted Sube.

"Then what's the matter of you?"

"Who said an'thing was?"

At this moment Gizzard caught a whiff of the unspeakable aroma. His face lighted up at once. "Been hurt?" he asked eagerly.

Sube shook his head.

Obviously disappointed, Gizzard pursued his inquiries. "Then what makes you smell so much like a horse doctor?" he asked.

Sube was in deep water. He couldn't tell Gizzard the truth about the mustache! But what could he tell? As nothing occurred to him, he made a bluff at mumbling that he didn't "smell nuthin'," thereby arousing Gizzard's compassionate derision.

At this tense moment there popped into Sube's mind an interesting bit of news that he had gleaned from his eaves-dropping outside the library door during the doctor's visit, and thinking that he might, by telling it, distract Gizzard's attention from his quest of the engaging odor, Sube dramatically glanced around as if to make sure that nobody was near, and whispered behind his hand:

"Hey, Giz, heard the news about ol' Whiting that lives nex' door to Doc Richards?"

Gizzard shook his head skeptically.

"Well, sir, when he went out on his porch to get his paper this morning, what do you s'pose he found there in a basket?"

"Apples?"

"I should say not! He found a little girl baby, as red as a beet!"

Gizzard was inclined to belittle this announcement. "That's nuthin'," he muttered; "the folks who live 'cross the street from us had twins last week—"

"But you don't understand!" cried Sube impatiently. "This was a founding!"

"A what?" asked Gizzard with a blank stare.

"A founding. It didn't have any mother or father, or an'thing 'xcept a 'nomynous letter."

"A what letter?" demanded Gizzard.

"A 'nomynous letter," Sube explained loftily. "A letter without any name signed to it but 'A Friend' or 'Taxpayer' or some'pm like that."

"What'd the letter say in it?"

"Oh, nuthin' 'xcept would ol' Whiting bring up the kid, and a verse from the Bible about sufferin' little children. And, Giz—" Sube lowered his voice to a strained whisper—"I know who the mother is!"

"What of it?" grunted Gizzard. "Don't I know who the mother of them twins is?"

"Huh!" snorted Sube. "I guess you don't know it's against the law to leave founding babies around like that! Why, every officer in this town is tryin' to find out who the mother is, and I'm the only one who knows!"

That gave the matter an entirely different complexion. And Gizzard's eyes were bright as he asked in an eager whisper, "Who is it?"

"Figger it out for yourself," responded Sube gravely. "Who do you know that's got a face as red as a beet? That's the first thing. And don't girl babies always look like their mothers? That's the second thing. And who sat there in Sunday School a couple of Sundays ago and said that verse about sufferin' little children more'n a dozen times?"

Gizzard gasped. "Her!" he cried. "Aw, you're way off! She ain't got any children!"

Sube smiled tolerantly. "It was her, all right, and I can prove it," he asserted; and then, perceiving that Gizzard was again beginning to sniff questioningly at the atmosphere, Sube proceeded to introduce his proof. Of course, the greater part of this talk was mere subterfuge to gain time; he had already told Gizzard all he knew. And the situation was becoming desperate. With grownups any old explanation would have gone. But with Gizzard it was different; the explanation of that odor must sound true. So Sube vapored on hoping wildly that something would occur to him.

He kept on talking about the foundling and her putative mother simply because he couldn't think

of anything else. And he had just reached the point where he was explaining that a little detective work would be required to bring the cruel mother to justice, when a great light broke over him. He saw a very simple way out of his predicament; he could tell Gizzard that he was raising the mustache for detective purposes, and Gizzard would never suspect that Nancy Guilford was at the bottom of it.

For a moment he paused, his eyes squinted for serious effect, then said in a tone of the strictest confidence, "Giz, if a feller's goin' to do good detective work, he's got to have a good disguise. And I'm goin' to have a blinger!" He moved closer to Gizzard as he asked, "Don't you smell some'pm?"

Gizzard rather thought he did.

Sube nodded significantly. "Well, that's it! I'm raisin' a mustache!"

Gizzard was thrilled. And as Sube eloquently unfolded the tale of the magic bottle, his audience was aroused to a pitch of boisterous enthusiasm. Then followed complications that Sube had not anticipated; Gizzard, too, wanted to raise whiskers and become a detective.

And as there appeared to be no way to prevent it without risk of exposure, Sube reluctantly took him in as a sort of Dr. Watson, and duly anointed his cheeks in the interest of a pair of long, flowing side-whiskers. A bristling mustache rather appealed to Gizzard, but was denied him on the ground of priority. Sube had already started a mustache, and there must be no duplications.

Boon for Baldness promised nothing within a week; and for the first time in their life the boys found the spring vacation beginning to drag. They pored over the pictures alleged to have been taken "Before Using" and "After Using," until the poor chromos were ragged and worn; they discussed the "astonishing results" that were guaranteed, until they had exhausted all the possibilities of surprise, and still the time dragged. Then, more as a diversion than anything else, they began to shadow the suspected mother; and this they found so absorbing that Sube almost lost sight of the original purpose for which he had started his mustache.

A careful log of the suspect's movements was kept in a pocket memorandum book that came in the carton with the Boon for Baldness. The entries were masterpieces of brevity.