"Sure. I've been talking to several already, and they're so sick they can hardly get along. Ho, ho!" and Rackshaw leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily.
"Where's the joke?" Hen was becoming impatient now. "You seem to have something funny up your sleeve."
"I have. Listen."
"By Jove!" Hen exclaimed, when Rackshaw had explained his purpose. "That's a good one, all right. You're a wonder, for sure. I'd never have thought of that. Ha, ha, the old cuss will get more'n he bargains for if I'm not mistaken. But you must be careful though. Remember the rats."
"There'll be no come-back this time, mind you," was the decided reply. "I hold the trump cards in this game, so don't worry."
Zeb read the scathing editorial in the paper and smiled. He showed it to Abner and asked him what he thought of it.
"It's jist what I wanted," was the enthusiastic reply. "Jist what ye wanted!" Zeb exclaimed. "How de ye make that out?"
"Don't ye know? Haven't ye enough sense left to see wot that article will do? Why, it'll bring a hull crowd here Saturday night quicker'n anythin' else."
"H'm, so that's the way ye look at it, eh? But don't be too sure, Abner."
"Never ye mind about that, Zeb. I wish I was as sartin of goin' to heaven as I am of that gang comin'."