THE FUGITIVES
Saturday passed quietly. No captures were made, no prospects sighted. But on Sunday Gizzard began to hear things. Certain inquisitive boys in his Sunday School class interrogated him as to the progress of the new business, and were especially curious to know what disposition was to be made of the captives. Gizzard dismissed them as prying ninnies, and more than thrice denied the existence of the enterprise.
After Sunday School Sube proceeded homeward a few laggard steps, when his attention was arrested by a most unusual anthill in a crack near the center of the sidewalk. He paused to investigate it, for he was greatly interested in ants, especially on Sunday. On several prior occasions he had pointed out to other naturalists, notably Nancy Guilford, certain peculiarities he had observed in the industrious insects. Pleasant discussions had been almost sure to follow. But to-day something was amiss. Nancy swept by without so much as a glance at the young naturalist. His first impulse was to call out to her, but the peculiar way she had brushed aside her skirts as she passed him counseled silence. So he pretended that he had not noticed her, and for several minutes confined his attention to the anthill. Then he crossed the street and passed along the other side utterly oblivious of all the world.
These things had not escaped Gizzard's observation, but he said in his heart, "It means nothing. It is the way of woman." However, on the morrow when he heard Nancy shout across the street to a companion that Sube Cane had stolen her new kitten and that her father was going to have him arrested, they took on a new and horrible significance.
He was irresistibly drawn to Cane's barn, where he found Sube peacefully seated among his yowling charges.
"Oh! You're still here, are you?" Gizzard asked nervously.
"Sure. Where'd you think I'd be?"
"Well, I didn't know. You can never tell! A feller never knows what's goin' to happen to 'im!" was the cryptic response.
Sube looked at Gizzard with a new found interest. "Say, what's the matter of you? You're as white as a sheet!"
"I ain't feelin' very good," Gizzard admitted. "I feel kind o' weak right here." He placed a hand over his stomach as he added, "Guess I'd better be goin' home."