“I see,” said the old man. “The frost. Well Mr. Mysterious Jones, I don’t know what you’re up to, but you’ve given me an interesting day. Let me know what comes of it.”
On the train back to New York, Average Jones Wrote two letters. One was to the Denny Research Laboratories in St. Louis, the other to the Department of Agriculture at Washington. On the following morning he went to Dorr’s office. That young chemist was in a recalcitrant frame of mind.
“I’ve done about ten dollars’ worth of fumigating and a hundred dollars’ worth of damage,” he said, “and now, I’d like to have a Missouri sign. In other words, I want to be shown. What did some skunk want to kill my dogs for?”
“He didn’t.”
“But they’re dead, aren’t they?”
“Accident.”
“What kind of an accident?”
“The kind in which the innocent bystander gets the worst of it. You’re the one it was meant for.”
“Me?”
“Certainly. You’d probably have got it if the dog hadn’t.”