Sube gave one long futile breath that put into words would have said, "What next!" It was a bad matter. But it was not so pressing as a certain other bad matter. Something had to be done about his incompleted haircut—and done quickly. No explanation could be made that was not likely to lead to very unpleasant disclosures. His only salvation was a real haircut. And that of necessity involved the expenditure of a sum of money he did not possess.
Sube knew Cathead had money—Cathead always had money—and he at once began a series of flattering offers to sell anything he possessed. But Cathead was thrifty. The commercial instinct was strong in him. He realized that the time to buy is when the other fellow wants to sell; but he did not become over anxious. He said he was not in the market. Neither was he conducting a loan office. Of course, if it was made worth his while, why,—he might think of it.
This bickering nearly drove Sube mad. Time for the evening meal was drawing near. He could hear his father's voice downstairs. In his desperation he made up a job lot containing everything of his in which Cathead had ever betrayed an interest, and struck it off for thirty pieces of copper.
Cathead grasped the psychology of the moment. "I'll take you up," he said promptly. "Come on down stairs while I get the money out of my bank."
Sube went only too willingly. In the library he encountered his father.
"Where is your cap, Sube?" reminded Mr. Cane.
"Yes, I know it," Sube explained. "I didn't forget it; you see, I'm goin' right out again."
"But as long as you are in the house—"
"Yes, sir; I'll take it right off."
Sube made a feint at his cap with one hand as he snatched some coins from Cathead with the other, and darted for the door.