"A bass drum!" his father exploded with a sound not wholly unlike that vast instrument. "What next! I de-clare, that boy beats—"
He gave up in despair.
Sube's mother had stronger nerves and was much less explosive. "What could you possibly do with a bass drum?" she asked.
"I got to have one for my drum corpse," replied Sube with the air of a man of affairs.
His father gave way to another explosion. "Well, there will be another kind of corpse around here if you ever attempt to perform in this neighborhood!" he threatened.
"Where's the drum your uncle Ned gave you?" asked his mother.
Sube glanced apprehensively at his father. This drum had been heard from before. "It's put away," he mumbled; hastily adding, "That's a snare drum, anyway. What we need is a bass drum!"
The mere thought of a drum was annoying to his father, who declared in a menacing tone: "I hereby warn you that if I ever find a drum on the premises, snare, bass, kettle or any other kind, I'll kick a hole through it! Now don't forget that!"
"Kettle? Did you say kettle?" Sube asked eagerly. "What's a kettle drum?"
"Never mind what it is," retorted his father. "The less you know about drums, the better off you'll be."