in the middle of a bushel,"
Sube remonstrated. "Let's have a little three-hander while we're
waitin'. I'll stand the two of you."

The little three-hander had become almost a set, and, strange to say,
Biscuit had been entirely forgotten when his mother, accompanied by a
slight, sallow gentleman in a black suit, drew up by the side of the
street in a surrey from the livery.

"Boys!" she called.

The game stopped. There was momentary confusion among the players. Sube
slipped the new ball into his pocket and carelessly kicked his sweater
over a pair of shoes and stockings lying beside the court, before he
appeared to be able to locate the speaker. When at last his eyes
encountered Mrs. Westfall's, he snatched off his cap with elaborate
gusto and sang out politely:

"Good morning, M's Westfall! Did you call us?"

"Yes," she replied sharply. "Where's Karl?"

"Ma'am?"

"Is Karl here?"

"Oh! No, ma'am."

"I gave him permission to come here and play tennis!" she cried with
visible irritation. "Hasn't he been here?"

"No, ma'am. We ain't seen him this mornin'."

Mrs. Westfall was annoyed. "He's going driving with us!" she informed
them. "Do you know where he is?"

"No, ma'am! He hasn't been around here!"

At that moment a movement at the rear of the house and in the immediate
neighborhood of the cellar door caught Mrs. Westfall's eye. An animated
mass of dirt and potato sprouts that might by some stretch of the
imagination have been taken for a human being, emerged and paused to
regard itself. For a moment it brushed desperately at the place where
trousers might have been expected to hang had it been a male member of
the human family. A cloud of stifling dust arose; and out of the midst
of the cloud came a wail of distress that Mrs. Westfall recognized as
the voice of her missing son.

Her astonishment gave way to annoyance, quickly followed by a surge of
red anger. She handed the reins to her escort and leaped from the surrey
with the agility of a tigress.

Sube involuntarily fell back a few steps muttering: "Why! That must be
him! I wonder where he's been!"

But he need have no fear, for this was his day. He was immune from
disaster of any kind. The enraged woman rushed past him, and seizing
Biscuit by the nape of the neck, hauled him over her knee and repeatedly
applied to his person a large red hand, utterly regardless of the
nebulous masses of dust that arose at each stroke.

At first Biscuit put up