vations regarding the peculiarities of the blood-sweathing
behemoth. And this in spite of the fact that his mother had previously
warned him that any attempt on his part to participate in the talk at
the table would be considered as an unfriendly act. Finally his
enthusiasm ran away with him to such an extent that he forced upon the
diners over the _sotto voce_ protests of his mother, an off-hand
description of the creature of Job's fancy, so detailed and so
unexpurgated that his instant dismissal from the table became
imperative.

He left the room more outraged than chastened, muttering something about
being able to "prove it" and fumbling sulkily in his hip pocket
apparently for evidence. A few moments later he was standing before his
beloved poster regarding his heart's desire with a sense of peculiar
proprietorship. After a little he sat down on the grass; and while
Sport, his old spotted dog, lay at his feet lazily digging at one ear
with a rheumatic hind-foot, Sube drew from his pocket and read aloud in
a halting monotone certain portions of the fortieth chapter of the Book
of Job, often pausing between verses to verify the observations of the
Patient Prophet by comparison with the portrait taken from life.

When the gathering dusk made further reading impossible, and began to
blur the features of the behemoth into less pleasing form Sube stood up.

"Sport," he said, "you'll prob'ly make a bum job of it, but you're goin'
to be a blood-sweatin' behemoth of Holy Writ."

The dog received this announcement with equanimity, little realizing the
inconvenience it was to cause him.

The next day at Sunday School Sube declined to give the Golden Text, and
recited in its stead a few verses from the Book of Job to which his
teacher, Miss Lester, took choleric exception. He was immediately sent
home; but when Miss Lester stopped in to explain matters to his mother
he had not yet arrived. As he sauntered in half an hour later he met
with a very warm reception and was placed on jail-limits for the
remainder of the day, being forbidden to leave the premises. But this
entailed no great hardship, for he spent the afternoon in the barn
printing posters and making preparations for the circus which he was
planning to launch on the morrow.

Monday was a red-letter day for the youth living in that part of the
town known as the East Village. The lucky few who were associated with
the management were engaged in building the "ampath