"You needn't think you're the only one," he complained. "My mother went and give away the best pair of ol' pants I had. She gave 'em to the sufferin' Belgiums."
"Huh!" snorted Sube disdainfully. "Nothin' but an ol' pair of pants! What's an ol' pair of pants, anyway? Everybody's got an ol' pair of pants to give away; but let me tell you they won't get another genuwine hat that Buffalo Bill wore with a hole shot through!"
But the former occupant of the pants refused to have them lightly treated. "Let me tell you that them pants wasn't to be sneezed at!" he retorted. "They was the best ol' pants I ever had. You never seen such pockets in your life—great big, deep fellers, and a little secret money-pocket—"
Reference to this secret pocket reminded Sube of something. "You mean those gray pants with the buckle on the back and all the suspender buttons on 'em?" he interrupted.
"Yep, the very ones," replied Gizzard, pleased that his apparel should have made such an impression on his friends. "'Member 'em?"
"You bet I remember 'em!" cried Sube enthusiastically. "That's the pair we used to sing the song about—'Papa's Pants Will Soon Fit Gizzie!'"
"Well," returned Gizzard defiantly, "they wasn't an ol' felt hat that a horse had stepped on, anyway."
The allusion was somewhat pointed, but Sube did not follow the matter up. Instead, he asked amicably, "Who did the beggin' over to your house?"
"A couple of ladies from Rochester," answered Gizzard. "I didn't see 'em, but that's what Ma said."
"That's jus' what I thought," muttered Sube as he practiced "jumping the fence" with his jackknife, and at the same time turned an idea over in his mind. Presently it came out. "Look 'ere, Giz," he said, "if a couple of ladies can come down here from Rochester and get away with a lot of stuff, what's the reason we can't go around and get hold of some good things?"