"That's good. We'll hustle there at once an' git the old nag."
They moved rapidly along the street leading to the railway station. This route led them by Rackshaw's office, and as they were about to pass they glanced in at the open door. The sight which met their eyes filled them with astonishment, causing them to stop and look into the room. To Zeb the scene of chaos was puzzling, but Abner surmised the cause in an instant. His face brightened, and his mouth expanded into a grin when he saw Whittles upon the floor and the lawyer standing before the box.
"Evenin', gentlemen," he accosted, "an' may the Lord fergive me fer miscallin' yez. Havin' a pink tea, eh?"
Rackshaw stood staring at Abner as if he could not believe his eyes.
"Good Lord!" he ejaculated. "Are you that devil, Andrews, or his ghost? I thought you were in jail."
"H'm," Abner sniffed. "I'm St. Peter now. This is me angel in the shape of Zeb Burns, who came to-night an' brought me out of prison. Look's to me as if you an' Hen have been holdin' a prayer meetin'. Guess ye'r prayers must have been answered, fer here I be."
"You're no saint," Rackshaw roared. "You're Beelzebub, the prince of devils; that's who you are. What did you mean by sending me those rats?"
"Rats!" and again Abner grinned. "Oh, I see," and his eyes surveyed the room. "Country rats, eh?"
"Indeed, they were," was the emphatic reply. "And look what they've done to my office. You'll have a nice sum to pay for all this damage."
"Me! Me pay?"