"And so that is the noted Abner Andrews, is it?" he mused. "And I was told that he wouldn't let me survey his gravel hill. I've won the bet, all right. He certainly is a queer cuss, and I thought at one time that I wouldn't leave this place alive. How in heaven's name does he happen to have a daughter like that? Good Lord, what a girl!"
CHAPTER VIII
THE DUMP SCHEME
"I wonder what the critter wants now."
"Who is it from?" Mrs. Andrews asked, as she paused in her work of beating an egg for one of her special company cakes.
For a few minutes Abner studied the letter he was holding in his hand, and paid no attention to his wife's question. He read it through again very carefully, and when he finished he gave a grunt of disgust.
"It must be serious if it makes you feel like that," Mrs. Andrews ventured.
"Hey, what's that?" Abner demanded. "Was ye speakin', Tildy?"
"Yes, I was. But what's the use of my speaking, when you're as deaf as a post. I was merely asking you who's the letter from?"
"Why, it's from Lawyer Rackshaw. I thought I told ye."