"Didn't you hear what I said? I'll defend Joe."
"But how can you? You love Joe about as much as you do Abner."
"H'm, that's all right. Joe doesn't know what I think of him. And I guess you've got to learn a few things yet, Hen. You're not as sharp as I thought you were. But, say, here's the express team, now."
The next instant the door was pushed open, and a fair-sized box was handed to the lawyer.
"What do you mean by being so late?" the latter demanded of the expressman.
"Couldn't help it, sir," was the reply. "I'm all mixed up to-night. There's only one team on the road."
Rackshaw carried the box to the table, cut the strings, and tore away the paper wrapping. Then he turned to his desk and produced a hammer.
"Down, Pedro," he ordered, as the dog began to sniff excitedly at the box. "Surely you're not thirsty, too."
"Following his master's example, eh?" Whittles smilingly queried. "Queer box, that."
"Queer! I should say so," the lawyer growled, as he began to pry up the cover. "I never got a box like this before. Down, Pedro, I say. What's the matter with the dog, anyway? He's half crazy."