"Rub a dub dub!
One shoe on the Tubb!
Where can the other one be?
Look in your bunk
And look in your trunk,
And look in the bumble-bee tree!"

"Whoop! hurrah! Songbird has composed another ode in Washtub's honor,"
sang out Fred Garrison. "Washtub, you ought to give Songbird a dollar
for that."

"Thanks, but I make not my odes for filthy lucre," same from Powell,
tragically, and then he continued:

"One penny reward,
And a big tin sword,
To whoever finds the shoe.
Come one at a time,
And form in line,
And raise a hullabaloo!"

And then a shout went up that could be heard all over the encampment.

"I'll lend you a slipper, Tubbs," said little Harry Moss, whose shoes
were several sizes smaller than those of the aristocratic cadet.

"Somebody get me a shingle and I'll cut Tubstand a sandal with my
jackknife," came from Tom.

"I'll shingle you!" roared William Philander Tubbs, and rushed away to