"Where is the specialist?" the driver laughingly enquired.
"Eight over there," and Zeb pointed to the workshop. "Go in that door."
"Queer office, that," was the reply. "A new stunt, eh?"
There was much laughing and joking as they moved away, and Zeb watched them with keen interest.
Abner was waiting to receive his patients, and had with much difficulty twisted his long legs into the tub by the time the visitors were at the door. By his side on the work-bench he had a number of ginger-beer bottles, all tightly corked. His face was wreathed with his most engaging smile as he motioned the young people to sit down.
"Glad to see yez," he told them, when they were at length seated upon the chairs Zeb had brought from his house. "Now what kin I do fer yez?"
"We're very sick," the driver explained, "and seeing your ad. in the paper, we've come to you for help."
With considerable difficulty his companions kept from laughing outright, and this Abner noted. But he pretended to be deeply concerned, and studied the four most critically.
"Yez sartinly do look sick," he agreed, "an' it's lucky that yez have come this evenin'. Now, what seems to be the matter, an' where is the trouble?"
"Eight here," and the spokesman placed his hand upon his heart in a most solemn manner.