CHAPTER XVIIN THE KLINKThe police court room of Glucom was seldom a busy place, and as a rule the police magistrate had little to do. A few drunks generally made up the list for the week, with an occasional family "affair" to add a little spice of excitement. It was, therefore, a welcome relief to the monotony when Abner Andrews was brought into court, and charged with assault upon the Editor ofThe Live Wire.Abner felt keenly the position in which he was placed as he stood in the dock and listened to the words of the sergeant who had arrested him. He realized how serious was the nature of the charge against him, and he clutched the rail of the dock firmly with both hands and carefully studied the face of the magistrate. He did not regret what he had done, neither was he much concerned about himself. It was of those at home he thought, for he knew how badly they would feel, and how they would worry when they heard of his arrest. He was anxious, too, about his wife. He surmised that something unusual had happened to her, otherwise that scurrilous article would not have appeared in the paper."You have heard the charge, Mr. Andrews?" It was the magistrate now speaking. "Do you plead 'Guilty' or 'Not Guilty'?""Not guilty, ye'r Honor," was the prompt reply."Not guilty!" the magistrate repeated in surprise. "Why do you say that? Didn't you make an assault upon Joseph Preston this morning?""Ye bet I did, and gave him a lickin' he won't fergit to the end of his days.""Well, then, if you acknowledge all that, why do you plead 'Not guilty'?""But I'm not guilty. I don't feel one bit guilty. My conscience doesn't bother me any more'n if I'd beat up a skunk that was after my chickens. Joe got jist what was comin' to him. Somebody had to do it sooner or later, and that's all there is about it."If it had been anyone else than Aimer Andrews the magistrate would have remanded him at once. But in truth he felt a certain sympathy for the prisoner, as he well knew that Joe Preston had merely received a just punishment. He himself had often mentally vowed vengeance upon the editor for his mean attacks upon him as police magistrate. But he had the dignity of his position to maintain, and it would not do for him to give expression to his feelings, especially in the court room, of all places."Did you not take a mean advantage of Mr. Preston?" he presently asked. "You gave him no chance, so I understand, but sprang upon him and hit him while he was sitting at his desk. Wasn't that rather a mean thing to do?""Mean! Isn't there different ways of hittin', ye'r Honor? Some hit with their eyes, an' some with their tongues. But Joe Preston hits with that dirty sheet of his.""And you hit with your fists, eh?""I sartinly do when it's necessary.""They get you into a lot of trouble, don't they?""Mebbe so. But they save me from a darn lot of trouble, too. I'm nat'rally a man of peace, an' mind me own bizness, but when a critter like Joe Preston hits me a mean, nasty cut below the belt, well, he won't do it no more. It saves one from doin' it to others, that's all."The magistrate stroked his chin as he thoughtfully mused for a few seconds. He was thinking of a story he would have to tell his wife when he went home to dinner."But why did you take matters into your own hands?" he asked. "You might have brought in an action for libel and receive damages.""Receive damages! Good Lord! That's what I was afraid of. If I'd gone to law with Joe Preston I wouldn't have had a ghost of a chance, an' you know it. So that's why I was anxious fer Joe to receive all the damages straight from my shoulder, an' with my special compliments. He's welcome to sich damages, an' I guess they're the only kind he understands.""Perhaps your damages are yet to come," was the magistrate's reminder. "Mr. Preston is not likely to forget the injuries he has received, that is, providing he recovers."A startled expression came into Abner's eyes at these words."Won't he recover?" he asked. "He's not as bad as that, is he?""The doctors are not certain, so I understand. Preston received a nasty blow on the head when he fell against the desk. If he doesn't get better it will go hard with you. But there, I guess that is all for to-day. I shall have to remand you. I am sorry, but I cannot help it.""Surely ye'r not goin' to send me back to that hole agin, are ye?" Abner anxiously asked. "Why it's not a fit place fer a dog, let alone a human bein'. There's a drunken brute in the cell next to mine who's cuttin' up pretty lively.""I can't help it, Mr. Andrews. You'll have to stay there unless you get someone to bail you out.""Bail me out! Good heavens! De ye think I'm a leaky old boat, or a tub, an' need to be baled out?""It's not that kind I mean," the magistrate explained. He would have another good story to tell his wife."Well, then, ye must think I've got water on the brain, or I'm a bloomin' watered-stock company.""I guess you know what I mean," and the magistrate smiled. "You're not so thick-headed as you try to make out.""I ought to be pretty thick-headed, ye'r Honor. Wouldn't anyone be that way with more'n a dozen heads on his shoulders?""A dozen heads!""Sure. Sometimes I'm Abner Andrews, of Ash Pint, an' agin I'm old Baron Rothschild, the Dook of Wellington, or some other guy. I guess I was the Dook all right when I walked over Joe Preston, though now I feel like old Boney Part when he was on that Island."The magistrate looked curiously at the prisoner."Don't you often get mixed up?" he asked."Should say so. I'm never jist sure who I am. It gives me a lot of trouble.""Well, if that's the way you feel, Mr. Andrews, I think the proper place for you to be is the lunatic asylum and not here. Anyway, we've got you now, and so must keep you for a while. Sergeant, you may take the prisoner down," he added, turning to the officer who had been standing quietly by during this interview.During the rest of the morning Abner paced up and down the room adjoining his cell. He knew very well how people would regard his imprisonment and how most of them would say it served him right. He wondered how long he would have to stay in that hole. He had not the remotest hope of getting out on bail, for he knew of no one interested in his welfare who was able to put up the money whatever it might be. He thought, too, of Joe Preston. Suppose the man should die, what then? He would be tried for murder, perhaps convicted, and he would be either hung or given a life-sentence in the penitentiary. The perspiration stood out in beads on his forehead as he thought of this, and it was a relief when the jailer brought him his dinner of bread and water."Is that the best this hotel kin afford?" he demanded, as he took the mean meal."Hotel! This is no hotel," was the curt reply. "This is the Klink, and that's the food fer birds that come here. It's more'n they deserve, too."Abner stepped up close to, the iron grate, and looked fiercely at the jailor."De ye know who I am?" he roared."H'm, I have a pretty good idea.""Ye think ye do, ye old goat. But I guess ye'r mistaken. I'm a public benefactor, that's what I am.""A public benefactor!""Sure. I did what many in this town were too cowardly to do. I gave Joe Preston the lickin' he desarved, an' this is the way I'm treated fer it. I can't eat this dry stuff. Hurry up an' bring me a piece of roast chicken, with all the fixin's an' some plum puddin', an' don't fergit the cigars, either. Them's the things fer a public benefactor."Abner chuckled to himself as the jailor ambled away."They'll think I'm luney, fer sure, the magistrate, an' the hull dang bunch, an' mebbe they'll not be fer astray. What's the use of bein' a public benefactor if ye've got to eat this stuff?" He glanced at the bread he was holding in his hands. "Ugh! What trash! Heavy as lead, soggy, an' sure death. Well, I'm not goin' to commit suicide yit a while. The rats kin if they want to."Tossing the bread into a corner of the room, he went into his narrow cell, and stretched himself out upon his hard rough cot."Might as well take life easy," he soliloquized. "What's the use of worryin', anyway. Guess a nap'll do me good."He had no intention of sleeping and was quite surprised when he at length opened his eyes and saw a young man standing by his side."Where in h—l am I?" the visitor unceremoniously asked.Abner looked curiously at the man without replying. He noted his bloodshot eyes, unshaven, haggard face, unkempt hair, and dirty, dishevelled clothes."Are you deaf?" the fellow demanded. "Didn't you hear what I said?""Oh, yes, I heard, all right," Abner drawled. "But I was merely tryin' to figger out what part of the hot place you've jist come from."The wild-eyed youth emitted a hoarse mirthless laugh. "I certainly have come from a hot place, the hottest I ever struck.""Well, ye don't tell! Ye sartinly look it. Run up aginst somethin' pretty hard, eh?""Should say so. Greatest ever. A hen, a real livin' hen in the shape of a woman; that's what it was.""My, my," Abner commented, now becoming much interested. "An' de ye consider ye'rself a man to be knocked out by sich a critter?""But you should have seen her. My G—d, it was awful! When she caught me by the hair with both hands, and pulled with all her might, I was sure my neck would be broken or my head would come off."That sartinly was some doin's, young man.""Indeed it was, ye bet ye'r boots. And when she added her blood-curdling screeches to her claws, I thought for sure a whole bunch of wild cats was on my back.""Look here, young man," Abner remarked, rousing to a sitting position. "You've had the D.T.'s; that's what's wrong with you. Guess ye've been seein' things.""But it's Gospel truth, I tell you," the other insisted. "It was only last night, when I was taking a joy-ride in Dimock's car that it happened. I only meant a little fun at the old hen's expense, but, Lord! it proved the other way round."The mention of Dimock's car made Abner fully alert, and in an instant he surmised that this was the chauffeur who had run away with his wife. His first feeling was one of anger, accompanied by a strong impulse to give the fellow a threshing. He banished this idea, however, as another method of punishment flashed upon his mind."So ye got more'n ye looked fer, eh?" he at length queried."Should say so. I didn't expect to find such a wild cat in that old hen.""Easy, go easy there," Abner warned, as he slowly doubled up his fists. "Leave out all sich flourishes. They ain't becomin' when ye'r speakin' of a woman. Mebbe she's somebody's wife an' mother.""I pity them, then, whoever they are," the young man replied. "Why, that she-devil ought to be put in a cage and placed on exhibition. When the car went into the ditch, because I couldn't see to steer, she bounded out like a rocket, seized a stick, and flew upon me like a whirlwind. My head and body are black and blue from her blows. It's a wonder I'm alive to tell the story.""It sartinly is, young man, it sartinly is," Abner assented. "Ye'r lucky to be alive, though perhaps it'd have been better if she'd finished ye outright.""I almost wish she had," was the mournful agreement. "I'm sick, nearly dead, and in jail, as far as I can see.""Oh, cheer up, young man, ye'r troubles are jist beginnin'. The worst is yit to come. Ye'r in jail, all right, an' most likely ye'll stay here fer some time. But that ain't the worst that's comin' to ye.""What do you mean?" and a look of fear came into the chauffeur's eyes."Oh, you'll find out later when the Queen of Sheby brings in damages. Then ye'll squirm, let me tell ye that.""The Queen of Sheby! Who in the devil is she?""Why, the woman ye took fer a joy-ride last night. Ye see, she doesn't know much about autos. She's used to travellin' on camels, so I believe, an' they didn't go so fast.""Travel on camels!" the other gasped."Sure. She travelled over hundreds of miles on them hump-backed critters to see old King Solomon several thousand years ago.""Say, what are you giving me?" the chauffeur demanded. "Do you think I'm a fool? That wild cat is no queen and never was. She's the wife of Abner Andrews, a queer cuss, so I've heard, who lives at Ash Point. Do you know him?""Y'bet I do. Better'n his own brother. I've known him fer several thousand years."The chauffeur did not reply, but stood staring at the man before him. He was trying to make out whether he was a fool or a madman."Yes," Abner continued, enjoying the other's astonishment. "I knew that old feller well when he was rich old Baron Rothschild, the Dook of Wellington, old Boney Part, an' the husband of the Queen of Sheby."The chauffeur was now certain that Abner was making fun of him, and he was in no mood for any pleasantries."You must be a pretty old bird yourself," he retorted, "if you knew all of those guys. It's no wonder you've lost your brains, that is, if you ever had any. Who the devil are you, anyway?""Me? Oh, it doesn't matter much who I am. But if ye want to know, I'll tell ye as a great secret that I'm the Queen of Sheby's husband.""The devil!""No, I ain't his Satanic majesty. I'm jist the Queen of Sheby's husband. She's allus ruled me, ye see, an' kept me to black her boots, button up her dress, an' do sich odd jobs that husbands are generally called upon to do. I have allus done as she said except that time several thousand years ago when she started to pay a visit to King Solomon. She had heard of his wisdom, an' thought she'd like to see him, an' hear some of his wise sayin's. But, my lands, when I bucked up, an' said she couldn't go, she landed upon me jist like she did upon you last night. I had to be put to bed, rubbed with palm-olive oil, an' fed like a baby fer a hull month. By the time I was able to set up the Queen was somewheres out in the desert on her way to the wise old king. I kin sartinly sympathize with you, young feller, fer I've been there meself, an' know what the Queen of Sheby is like when she gits roused.""Look here," the chauffeur demanded, "are you kidding me or are you a blooming fool? I can't see any connection between that old queen and the creature that landed on me last night." He paused and a sudden look of fear leaped into his eyes. "Say," he gasped, "surely you're not Abner Andrews, are you?""I am an' I ain't. I was an' I isn't, so there ye are. Now kin ye jist tell me who I am, anyway?"But the chauffeur did not wait to reply. He had retreated, and was out in the adjoining room when Abner had finished."Don't be skeered, young man," the latter remarked. "Ye can't run very fer in this hole, anyway, an' I kin ketch ye whenever I want ye.""Oh, Lord!" the unhappy chauffeur groaned. "It's her husband, and he's crazy! What am I to do?""Hold ye'r tongue, that's what ye kin do," Abner roared. "De ye think I'm goin' to kill ye right off? That'd be too good fer the likes of you. Come in here an' set down, an' tell me why ye ran off with my queen.""Your queen! Good heavens! Why didn't you tell me she belonged to you? Are you sure you're not crazy?""I will be soon if ye don't stop ye'r gab and set down. There, that's better," he continued, when the other had perched himself gingerly upon the edge of the cot. "Now, look here, young feller, I want to know why ye chose my queen fer ye'r joy-ride last night? It wasn't fer her beauty, or attractive manner, was it?""Oh, Jerusalem, no!""Well, why was it? Out with it."But the young man held down his head, and made no reply. Abner studied him for a few minutes in silence."Did somebody put ye up to that job?" he presently enquired. "Don't be afraid to tell me. But if ye don't, I'll be as tender with ye as a cat with a mouse. Somebody set ye on, didn't he?""Yes," the chauffeur finally blurted out."Ah, I thought so. We're gittin' on nicely now with our little teeter game, you at one end, me at the other, an' someone in the middle. Now, who was that someone?""It was Lawyer Rackshaw; that's who it was.""H'm, I guessed as much. I s'pose he paid ye fer the job?""Yes; money and whiskey.""Ho, ho, money an' whiskey, eh? Well, I declare! An' all fer the sake of givin' the Queen of Sheby a joy-ride. He was sartinly kind. I wish he'd been along too.""So do I, the mean devil. He got me into the fix, and he'll snap his fingers at me now.""Will he?""Certainly. That's the kind he is.""But can't you do somethin'?""Do! What can I do?""Swear to what ye've jist told me.""Oh, yes, I'll swear to that at any old time. But what good will it do?""It might do ye a lot of good, an' me too.""You!""Sure. I'm in this hole fer bein' a public benefactor, an' if you'll jist swear to what ye've told me, it might help us both out, see?""Have you something against Rackshaw?""Yes, a few things, more or less.""Then I'll swear. But say, you'll not do anything to me for giving your wife that joy-ride last night, will you?""No, no, that's all right, now that I know who put ye up to it. But look here, young feller, take an old man's advice and let whiskey alone after this. It's put a good many more chaps than you in the ditch when they were joy-ridin' with women. Yes, whiskey an' women have sartinly got many a fine bright chap into trouble, as ye know from experience. Women ain't allus what they seem, an' it's hard sometimes to tell the difference between the Queen of Sheby an' Tildy Andrews, of Ash Pint."CHAPTER XVIIFRIENDLY ADVICEIt seemed to Abner that all his friends had forsaken him. He paced up and down the room outside his cell most of the evening. The chauffeur was asleep, and his deep breathing was the only sound which broke the intense stillness which prevailed. The nap he had taken that afternoon drove all sleep from Abner's eyes. In fact, he could not have slept, anyway, as the story the chauffeur had told gave him food for much thought. So Rackshaw was at the bottom of it all, he mused. He had surmised as much, but he had no means of proving it until he had heard it from the lips of the wild-eyed youth. Perhaps the lawyer was responsible, too, for the article inThe Live Wire. How could the editor have obtained the information unless someone had communicated with him? The police, of course, could have done so, but they would not have twisted the story beyond all semblance of reality. He felt that Joe Preston was guilty, and deserved all that he had received. But was Rackshaw in league with him?He was lost in such thoughts when he heard the jailor's approaching footsteps. The man was coming, no doubt, to lock him in his cell for the night. The thought of being confined in that narrow stuffy place for long hours angered him, so when he heard the key rattle in the lock he was in a most dangerous frame of mind. Accustomed as he was from childhood to unbounded freedom, and an abundance of fresh air, this close confinement in such poorly-ventilated quarters was most galling. He had started to walk back to the other end of the room as the key turned in the lock. He could hardly trust himself then, and he needed a few seconds to calm his feelings.As the door swung open the jailor called to him, and demanded why he was running away. Fiercely Abner wheeled around, but the words of wrath which were glowing hot on his tongue suddenly cooled when he beheld Zeb Burns standing before him. For an instant he stood as if he had seen an apparition, staring hard at his neighbor. Zeb saw the look of astonishment, and the faint semblance of a smile lurked about the corners of his mouth."What's the matter, Abner?" he asked. "Ye look scared.""So I am.""What about?""You.""Me! Why are you scared about me?""What have ye been doin', Zeb?""Doin'! What de ye mean?""But why are ye here? Have they got you, too?""Ho, ho, I see," and Burns laughed outright. "Ye think that because you're in the Klink everybody else is headin' the same way. But I guess there are a few sensible people left yit in the world, which is a mighty lucky thing.""An' they're not goin' to lock you up too?" Abner asked in surprise. "Ye haven't been beatin' anybody up, eh?""Certainly not. What's the matter with ye, anyway, Abner? I'm here to take you out of this hole, so git a hustle on an' come with me at once. There now, never mind talkin'," he added. "We've got lots of time fer that later. I want to git away."Like a child Abner followed Zeb out of the jail, and not until they had reached the street did he open his lips. Then he stopped, looked around, and drew in a long, deep breath of fresh air."My, that feels good!" he exclaimed. "The Lord never meant a man to be shut up in a place like that.""I know he didn't," Zeb replied. "Neither did He intend that a man in his common sense should act the fool.""De ye think I have?" Abner demanded."It looks very much like it. But, let's hurry up. I guess the judge will settle whether you are a fool or a lunatic, so it's no use fer us to spend our time arguin' about it.""Where are ye goin'?" Abner asked."Home, of course. Where else would we go?""Did ye walk to town, Zeb?""Sure; I've no other means of conveyance, have I?""An' ye're goin' to walk home?""Guess so from present appearance.""But Jerry's here," Abner explained. "Sam must know where he is.""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?""Yes, you I mean!" the lawyer yelled, now fairly beside himself. "You are the cause of all this, an' I'll skin you alive, see if I don't, you miserable devil."The grin vanished from Abner's face, his form suddenly straightened, and his eyes blazed. Walking slowly across the room, he stood before the angry lawyer."Jist say them words agin," he warned, in that drawling tone which betokened danger. "If ye're thinkin' of skinnin' me alive, as no doubt ye'll try to do, I might as well have my full satisfaction now. I'm in deep water as it is over Joe Preston, an' I feel jist in the mood to have another scalp scored to my credit. Another skunk like you won't make much difference, so jist say them words agin, will ye?"Rackshaw was in a trap and knew it. His body shook and his eyes blazed fire. But he was an arrant coward, and the huge form bulked very large before him just then. He knew that Abner would not hesitate to deal with him as he had with Joe Preston, and he did not relish the thought of going to the hospital for repairs. As the two men thus faced each other, Zeb approached and laid a firm hand upon Abner's arm."Come along out of this," he commanded. "You're in enough trouble now. Don't be a fool. I'm losin' faith in this ancestor business of yours. St. Peter never acted like you're actin' to-night."For an instant only Abner hesitated. He did long to give the lawyer something that was coming to him. But he knew that Zeb was right, and he followed him to the door. He couldn't refrain, however, from giving a parting shot ere he left."Don't fergit, Rackshaw," he reminded, "that country rats are not to be fooled with, no matter whether they walk on four legs or two. Keep ye'r city rats where they belong, and let them mind their own bizn'ess, an' ye'll have no trouble with country rats.""Fer heaven's sake, hold ye'r tongue, an' come along," Zeb ordered. "I'm sick an' tired of all this confounded fuss.""But would ye put up with sass from a thing like that?" Abner asked. "I wish I had punched his head.""It's lucky ye didn't.""Why?""You ought to know as well as I do. What kin you do aginst a lawyer? He'll make it hot fer you as it is. I don't know what's comin' over ye, Abner. I always knew that you were a queer critter, but I thought ye had some brains left."For a wonder Abner made no reply, but walked along silently until the station house was reached. It was locked, and Sam was nowhere to be found. Upon enquiry from a man who was standing upon the platform, they learned that the agent had gone to a party out in the country, and had taken Jerry with him."Confound that feller!" Abner growled. "What right has he to run off with my hoss, I'd like to know?""He looked after him, though, when you were in the pen, didn't he?" Zeb queried."Sure, sure he did, an' I s'pose I must fergive him.""Now you're beginnin' to talk like a reasonable man, Abner. It's the first sensible thing I've heard ye say to-night. But we've got to git home, so I guess there's nothin' else to do but to foot it. What de ye say?""I'm game, so let's git on."They made their way through the town, and when they were at last out into the country, they filled and lighted their pipes as they trudged along. So far little had been said, but the soothing effect of the tobacco seemed to make them more communicable, and they discussed the affairs of the evening. Abner was unusually fierce in his denunciation of everything in general. He believed that he had been unjustly treated, and he longed for suitable retaliation. Zeb listened to him for some time without arguing. He knew that Abner must unburden his soul before he could feel better. At length, however, he stopped and laid his hand upon his companion's sleeve."Look here, Abner," he solemnly began, "I don't like ye to talk that way. It doesn't do any good.""But it does me a lot of good to blow off steam," Abner retorted."Yes, mebbe it does. But remember, there's a great difference between blowin' off steam and bustin' ye'r biler, an' that's what you're in danger of doin'.""But de ye think I'm goin' to put up with a hull bunch of rogues who are tryin' to down me?""An' ye'r helpin' them with ye'r actions, ain't ye?""What else am I to do? They'll walk over me rough shod if I don't put up a fight. If ye run away from a little snappin' cur he'll run after ye, an' bite ye'r heels, an' bark like mad. But turn around, face the critter, an' give it a good kick, an' then ye'll see how it'll scoot away with its tail between its legs.""But suppose it isn't a cur, Abner, but a big bulldog, what then?""Why, I'd use a stick, or mebbe somethin' else.""Yes, that's jist it. You'd do somethin' that ye'd regret all ye're life. Now, look here. You've got to stop all this. What you need is a change of heart.""Change of heart!" Abner repeated. "Good Lord, what de ye mean by that? Ye haven't been attendin' a revival meetin', have ye, Zeb?""No, I haven't, an' don't intend to. But common sense tells me that a man won't accomplish much in this world when he is always rubbin' people the wrong way. Even a cat won't stand it fer long.""The way I rubbed Rackshaw, Ikey Dimock an' Joe Preston, eh?" Abner asked."That's what I mean. It makes the sparks fly, an' soon there's a big fire which is hard to put out.""What de ye expect me to do, then?""Rub people the other way, fer instance, and see how it'll work.""Ho, ho," and Abner laughed outright. "Imagine me rubbin' Ikey Dimock an' Rackshaw, an' pattin' 'em on the back an' callin' 'em 'me dear friends.' No, I guess I'm too old a bird fer that. Never had the trainin', ye see. Anyway, it's no use now; it's too late. Everybody's dead set aginst me, an' is tryin' to do me.""Everybody is not, Abner. I'm not, anyway, or else I wouldn't have taken all the trouble to walk to town to git ye out of jail.""Sure, sure, I know you'd stand by me, Zeb. But, say, how did ye do it?""Do what?""Git me out of jail, of course.""Oh, bailed ye out, that was all.""But where did ye git the money?""Never mind where I got it. That's my own business, so don't say anythin' more about it."Abner was silent for a few minutes as he plodded along."Say," he presently began, "does Tildy an' the gals know about this?""Can't say fer sure," was the reply. "But I don't believe they do. I jist heard of it by chance, but I never said a word to ye'r folks.""That's good of ye, Zeb." And once more Abner became silent.The night was dark, and when the men were about a mile from their homes it began to rain, first a gentle drizzle, then a steady downpour. They hastened their steps, but the roads became muddy and slippery, which made progress slow."Say, Zeb," Abner at length panted, "an' ye really think I need a change of heart?""Don't ye think so ye'rself?" was the evasive reply. "Is this rain softenin' ye up? It is me, at any rate, an' I'm gittin' soaked.""But how kin I begin the change, Zeb?""Guess ye'll have to work out that sum ye'rself, Abner, if it's not too hard.""Now, that's jist the trouble. It is too hard. Ye see, me ancestors are to blame. They were all fightin' men, an' so that spirit has come down to me.""H'm," Zeb sniffed. "The trouble with you is that ye've chosen ye'r own ancestors.""Chosen me own ancestors! How could a man do that?""Easy enough. Ye've got a quarrelsome spirit, Abner, an' ye naturally choose sich dead men as suit ye. Ye kin go to the past fer anythin', it seems t' me, jist as people go to the Bible to find what agrees with their way of thinkin'. Now, isn't that so?""But what am I to do, Zeb?""Think of men who have followed peace instead of war; men who have served their country an' sacrificed themselves. If ye kin do that, perhaps ye'll git their spirit, which, in my opinion, will do ye a great deal of good.""Mebbe ye'r right, Zeb," Abner agreed. "But darn it all, I don't know nuthin' about men of peace who sacrificed themselves fer others. I've already sacrificed much fer Glucom by lookin' after Joe Preston. If that wasn't a good deed fer the welfare of the community, then I'd like to know what it was.""But ye'r heart wasn't right, Abner," Zeb explained. "There was anger there, an' when ye knocked Joe out ye never thought of the public good, but of ye'r own personal injury. That's not the way. Git them good ancestors to work, then ye'll know what I mean, an' ye'll begin to rub people the right way. Life will be much more pleasant, see if it isn't.""Good ancestors, rubbin' people the right way," Abner muttered, as he plodded along. "I'd like to know how to begin, skiddy-me-shins if I wouldn't."CHAPTER XVIIIA MOIST RECEPTIONAbner was somewhat uneasy as to the reception he would be likely to receive at home. What would his wife say about the two waifs he had sheltered for the night and the ruined pillow-slips? Judging from past experiences, he felt quite sure that a lively time lay ahead of him, and he knew that he would need the combined spirits of all his peace-loving ancestors to aid him in keeping calm.Thinking of such things, he walked slowly to the back door after he had parted from Zeb at the gate. He had no idea what time of the night it was, though he was sure that it was late, for the house was wrapped in complete darkness. He decided to slip in unnoticed and occupy the sofa in the kitchen for the night. And glad would he be to rest, for he was very tired after such a trying day and his long walk home.Reaching the back door, he gently tried the latch, but it was firmly secured from within. He had partly expected this, as he knew how particular his wife was about fastening the doors before going to bed. She had often told about a robbery which had once taken place at a certain house because the back door had been left open. Abner thought she might have departed from her strict rule for this night, at least, in case of his return. It annoyed him to think how little his absence was considered by his own family.Failing to find an entrance here, he at once remembered the window in the woodshed."Lucky fer me," he mused, "that I didn't fix that winder. That's a time when I was right, an' I won't fergit to remind Tildy of it, neither."It was so dark that he made considerable noise as he walked around the end of the woodshed. He tripped over a pail, and when he had with difficulty recovered himself, the clothes-line, which had been drawn taut by the rain, caught him under the chin, and gave his head such a jerk that he was sure his neck was cracked. These mishaps by no means sweetened his temper, but he managed to restrain his feelings so far as speech was concerned, though, as he afterwards expressed it, he was "bilin' within."It took him several minutes to find the window, and this he accomplished by feeling his way along the side of the building. When his hands at length reached the opening, which was about up to his shoulders, he gave a spring, caught his elbows upon the sill and pulled himself up. This was somewhat hard to do as Abner's body almost filled the opening. After two or three frantic wriggles he progressed far enough to balance himself upon his stomach upon the sill. Another wriggle and he would be through. But just at this critical juncture there was a sudden movement within the shed, a rush was heard, and then a flood of cold water was dashed into his face. With a half-smothered yell of surprise Abner recoiled, and ere he could regain himself, he lost his balance and fell sprawling upon the ground.For a few seconds he lay there puzzled and half dazed. What did it all mean? he asked himself. Who could be in the woodshed at that hour of the night? Why had the water been thrown into his face? Then the terrible thought flashed into his mind that something must have happened to his family, that robbers might be in control of the house, who had committed some terrible deed. The silence of the house lent color to this suspicion, and a wild fury filled Abner's soul. He scrambled to his knees, then to his feet. He would teach the villains a lesson they would not soon forget. They would not escape his wrath, and he must be quick.Hurrying around the building as fast as possible, he reached the door, and was about to force it open, when the sound of splashing water fell upon his ears, accompanied by a heavy thump upon the floor, as if somebody had fallen. Instantly a woman's wild shriek rent the air, mingled with children's cries of distress. Certain now that something was seriously wrong within, Abner put his shoulder to the door, which immediately gave way with a crash. This only tended to cause the cries and shrieks to grow louder than ever, and Abner was completely confused by the din. He could see nothing, and he did not know which way to step. He felt around through the blackness, but could touch nothing."Shet up ye'r yellin'," he roared, "an' tell me what's the matter."This command had the desired effect, for the babel lessened."Abner, oh, Abner, is that you?" came a voice from his left, which he recognized as belonging to his wife."Sure, it's me," was the reply. "What in the divil does all this mean?""I thought you were a pack of robbers," Mrs. Andrews moaned. "Get a light, quick; I'm afraid I've killed one of the boys."As Abner turned toward the kitchen a light suddenly illumined the darkness. Jess was coming, carrying a lamp in her hand, closely followed by Belle. Both girls were clad in their dressing-gowns, and their faces were white with fear."Daddy, daddy, what is the matter?" Jess asked."Look out, there, ye'll let that lamp fall," Abner warned. "Give it to me. My, ye're tremblin' all over.""Oh, tell me what has happened," Jess pleaded. "Is anybody killed?""Sounds like somethin's dyin'," Abner replied, as he took the lamp from the girl's trembling hand and turned the light upon the shed. As he did so he saw a peculiar sight. Lying on the floor, with her back to the wall, was his wife, with an expression of misery depicted upon her face. On each side of her was a little boy, hopelessly entangled in the bed-clothes, and with wide staring eyes, filled with wonder and terror. Near by he saw three other little chaps also awake, and watching all that was taking place."What's the meaning of this?" Abner demanded. "An' what's all that water doin' on the floor? There's as much there as there is on me an' down me neck."Mrs. Andrews made no reply. She seemed to be greatly overcome. At once Jess stooped down and put her arms around her mother's shoulders."Mother dear, are you sick?" she asked. "Let me help you up. Something dreadful must have happened. Come into the kitchen."Breathing heavily and moaning, Mrs. Andrews was rescued from her lowly position, assisted into the kitchen, and placed upon a chair."I'm afraid I'm dying," the woman moaned. "I never had such a fright in all my life. It was worse than the auto.""She's luney," Abner remarked. "Her brain's turned. Better git the smellin'-salts, Jess; they'll bring her to.""My brain's not turned," was the emphatic and unexpected protest. "You're luney yourself, Abner Andrews, and everybody knows it. What do you mean by prowling about the house at this time of night, scaring people out of their wits?""An' what do people mean by sleepin' in the woodshed?" Abner retorted. "How did I know ye was there with a hull bunch of kids.""They're some of yours, though, Abner. I have as much right to bring children into this house as you have. You needn't think that you run this place."Abner was about to make a strong sarcastic reply, when he suddenly thought of his peaceful ancestors, and checked himself just in time."There now, me love," he replied in his most affable manner, "I know I don't run this place, an' never did. You run it so well, Tildy, that I wouldn't dare to interfere."Abner felt quite proud of this effort, and smiled broadly upon his wife, expecting her to be astonished at these words. In this, however, he was disappointed. Mrs. Andrews was in no mood for soft words, and she viewed him critically from head to foot."Have you been drinking, Abner?" she asked. "Is that why you are so late coming home?""Drinkin'! Good Lord!" Abner gasped. "What makes ye think that I have, Tildy?""By the way you've acted ever since you came home. You first tramped around the house as if you were afraid to come in, and scared me most to death, and now you get off a whole lot of senseless nonsense. I never heard the like of it.""No, I guess ye ain't used to sich things, Tildy. I've been in the habit of sayin' pretty nasty things, but I've had a change of heart, ye see, an' that makes the difference.""A change of heart!""Sure," and Abner stroked his chin and smiled."Have you been to a revival meeting in town?" his wife demanded."No, not as bad as that. But I've had a change of heart, all right, an' I'm havin' a wonderful experience. I see all me good ancestors a-hoverin' over me head, smilin' an' breathin' upon me peaceful spirits. Oh, it's great! Don't ye wish you felt like that, Tildy? I think a new heart 'ud do you good, too.""What I need is a new husband," was the scornful reply."But ye have a new husband, Tildy. He's come back to ye from the pit of destruction. He's changed, I tell ye, an' his heart is like the heart of a little child.""And as simple, why don't you say? I'd like to know what's come over you.""An' I'd like to know what's happened to you, Tildy. Why were ye sleepin' out in the woodshed? Were ye mournin' so much over me that ye couldn't stay in the old bed where we've slept fer years? Guess ye've got a warm spot in ye'r heart fer me after all, haven't ye?""It wasn't for your sake I was sleeping in the woodshed," Mrs. Andrews explained, "but to look after those children.""Oh, I see; an' ye armed ye'rself with pails of water, eh?""I certainly did, as you should know."Abner glanced down at his wet clothes and smiled."What happened to the other pail, Tildy?""I tripped over it; that's what I did.""And landed upon the kids, ho, ho.""Is it anything to laugh at? I might have killed the poor little things.""Sure, sure, ye might, Tildy. It's nuthin' to laff at, oh, no. I shouldn't laff at anythin' like that when I've had a change of heart, should I? De ye think me good ancestors 'ud act that way?"While this conversation was going on, Jess and Belle were attending to the children, soothing their fears and arranging the disordered bed-clothes. They had overheard the animated talk, nevertheless, and it amused them. They looked upon the whole affair as a joke when they knew that no harm had been done. Belle, especially, enjoyed the fun. It was the first real family scene of this kind she had witnessed since coming to Ash Point, although Jess had often told her that she might expect it at any time, but not to be at all alarmed when it did happen. They came back into the kitchen just as Abner was speaking about his peaceful ancestors."Don't you think you should go to bed, daddy?" Jess asked. "That seems to me to be the best way to settle all disputes to-night.""Indeed, I do," Abner agreed, "'specially fer a man who wants to imbibe the spirits of his ancestors.""I'm still convinced that you've been imbibing Tom Grogan's spirits," Mrs. Andrews replied. "Why, I can smell it on your breath, can't you, Jess?""I guess ye'r wrong this time, Tildy. Ye've never smelled the spirits of me ancestors, not by a jugful.""Indeed, I haven't, and I hope to goodness I never shall," his wife retorted. "But get away to bed, all of you.""I'm goin' to watch them kids fer the rest of the night," Abner announced."No, you're not," his wife declared. "I couldn't trust you with them. I've undertaken the job for to-night, and I intend to carry it through, so, away with you all, and let me get some rest."Abner at once started off, humming as he went:"When Bill Larkins made his money."Mrs. Andrews and the girls watched him until he had disappeared. Then they looked at one another with wondering eyes. Jess was the first to speak."I'm afraid there's something wrong with daddy," she whispered."I'm sure of it," her mother replied. "He's either luney, or he's been drinking."But Belle laughed at them."You needn't worry about him," she declared. "He's neither crazy nor drunk. He has more sense left than most men. It's only his way.""Which way? I'd like to know," and Mrs. Andrews sighed. "He's had so many ways since we've been married that I don't know which way you mean.""That may be so, Mrs. Andrews, but I believe this way is a good one, so we must not worry.""Let us hope so," was all that Mrs. Andrews said. Nevertheless, she found it hard to get to sleep again, for she knew her husband better than either of the girls.
CHAPTER XVI
IN THE KLINK
The police court room of Glucom was seldom a busy place, and as a rule the police magistrate had little to do. A few drunks generally made up the list for the week, with an occasional family "affair" to add a little spice of excitement. It was, therefore, a welcome relief to the monotony when Abner Andrews was brought into court, and charged with assault upon the Editor ofThe Live Wire.
Abner felt keenly the position in which he was placed as he stood in the dock and listened to the words of the sergeant who had arrested him. He realized how serious was the nature of the charge against him, and he clutched the rail of the dock firmly with both hands and carefully studied the face of the magistrate. He did not regret what he had done, neither was he much concerned about himself. It was of those at home he thought, for he knew how badly they would feel, and how they would worry when they heard of his arrest. He was anxious, too, about his wife. He surmised that something unusual had happened to her, otherwise that scurrilous article would not have appeared in the paper.
"You have heard the charge, Mr. Andrews?" It was the magistrate now speaking. "Do you plead 'Guilty' or 'Not Guilty'?"
"Not guilty, ye'r Honor," was the prompt reply.
"Not guilty!" the magistrate repeated in surprise. "Why do you say that? Didn't you make an assault upon Joseph Preston this morning?"
"Ye bet I did, and gave him a lickin' he won't fergit to the end of his days."
"Well, then, if you acknowledge all that, why do you plead 'Not guilty'?"
"But I'm not guilty. I don't feel one bit guilty. My conscience doesn't bother me any more'n if I'd beat up a skunk that was after my chickens. Joe got jist what was comin' to him. Somebody had to do it sooner or later, and that's all there is about it."
If it had been anyone else than Aimer Andrews the magistrate would have remanded him at once. But in truth he felt a certain sympathy for the prisoner, as he well knew that Joe Preston had merely received a just punishment. He himself had often mentally vowed vengeance upon the editor for his mean attacks upon him as police magistrate. But he had the dignity of his position to maintain, and it would not do for him to give expression to his feelings, especially in the court room, of all places.
"Did you not take a mean advantage of Mr. Preston?" he presently asked. "You gave him no chance, so I understand, but sprang upon him and hit him while he was sitting at his desk. Wasn't that rather a mean thing to do?"
"Mean! Isn't there different ways of hittin', ye'r Honor? Some hit with their eyes, an' some with their tongues. But Joe Preston hits with that dirty sheet of his."
"And you hit with your fists, eh?"
"I sartinly do when it's necessary."
"They get you into a lot of trouble, don't they?"
"Mebbe so. But they save me from a darn lot of trouble, too. I'm nat'rally a man of peace, an' mind me own bizness, but when a critter like Joe Preston hits me a mean, nasty cut below the belt, well, he won't do it no more. It saves one from doin' it to others, that's all."
The magistrate stroked his chin as he thoughtfully mused for a few seconds. He was thinking of a story he would have to tell his wife when he went home to dinner.
"But why did you take matters into your own hands?" he asked. "You might have brought in an action for libel and receive damages."
"Receive damages! Good Lord! That's what I was afraid of. If I'd gone to law with Joe Preston I wouldn't have had a ghost of a chance, an' you know it. So that's why I was anxious fer Joe to receive all the damages straight from my shoulder, an' with my special compliments. He's welcome to sich damages, an' I guess they're the only kind he understands."
"Perhaps your damages are yet to come," was the magistrate's reminder. "Mr. Preston is not likely to forget the injuries he has received, that is, providing he recovers."
A startled expression came into Abner's eyes at these words.
"Won't he recover?" he asked. "He's not as bad as that, is he?"
"The doctors are not certain, so I understand. Preston received a nasty blow on the head when he fell against the desk. If he doesn't get better it will go hard with you. But there, I guess that is all for to-day. I shall have to remand you. I am sorry, but I cannot help it."
"Surely ye'r not goin' to send me back to that hole agin, are ye?" Abner anxiously asked. "Why it's not a fit place fer a dog, let alone a human bein'. There's a drunken brute in the cell next to mine who's cuttin' up pretty lively."
"I can't help it, Mr. Andrews. You'll have to stay there unless you get someone to bail you out."
"Bail me out! Good heavens! De ye think I'm a leaky old boat, or a tub, an' need to be baled out?"
"It's not that kind I mean," the magistrate explained. He would have another good story to tell his wife.
"Well, then, ye must think I've got water on the brain, or I'm a bloomin' watered-stock company."
"I guess you know what I mean," and the magistrate smiled. "You're not so thick-headed as you try to make out."
"I ought to be pretty thick-headed, ye'r Honor. Wouldn't anyone be that way with more'n a dozen heads on his shoulders?"
"A dozen heads!"
"Sure. Sometimes I'm Abner Andrews, of Ash Pint, an' agin I'm old Baron Rothschild, the Dook of Wellington, or some other guy. I guess I was the Dook all right when I walked over Joe Preston, though now I feel like old Boney Part when he was on that Island."
The magistrate looked curiously at the prisoner.
"Don't you often get mixed up?" he asked.
"Should say so. I'm never jist sure who I am. It gives me a lot of trouble."
"Well, if that's the way you feel, Mr. Andrews, I think the proper place for you to be is the lunatic asylum and not here. Anyway, we've got you now, and so must keep you for a while. Sergeant, you may take the prisoner down," he added, turning to the officer who had been standing quietly by during this interview.
During the rest of the morning Abner paced up and down the room adjoining his cell. He knew very well how people would regard his imprisonment and how most of them would say it served him right. He wondered how long he would have to stay in that hole. He had not the remotest hope of getting out on bail, for he knew of no one interested in his welfare who was able to put up the money whatever it might be. He thought, too, of Joe Preston. Suppose the man should die, what then? He would be tried for murder, perhaps convicted, and he would be either hung or given a life-sentence in the penitentiary. The perspiration stood out in beads on his forehead as he thought of this, and it was a relief when the jailer brought him his dinner of bread and water.
"Is that the best this hotel kin afford?" he demanded, as he took the mean meal.
"Hotel! This is no hotel," was the curt reply. "This is the Klink, and that's the food fer birds that come here. It's more'n they deserve, too."
Abner stepped up close to, the iron grate, and looked fiercely at the jailor.
"De ye know who I am?" he roared.
"H'm, I have a pretty good idea."
"Ye think ye do, ye old goat. But I guess ye'r mistaken. I'm a public benefactor, that's what I am."
"A public benefactor!"
"Sure. I did what many in this town were too cowardly to do. I gave Joe Preston the lickin' he desarved, an' this is the way I'm treated fer it. I can't eat this dry stuff. Hurry up an' bring me a piece of roast chicken, with all the fixin's an' some plum puddin', an' don't fergit the cigars, either. Them's the things fer a public benefactor."
Abner chuckled to himself as the jailor ambled away.
"They'll think I'm luney, fer sure, the magistrate, an' the hull dang bunch, an' mebbe they'll not be fer astray. What's the use of bein' a public benefactor if ye've got to eat this stuff?" He glanced at the bread he was holding in his hands. "Ugh! What trash! Heavy as lead, soggy, an' sure death. Well, I'm not goin' to commit suicide yit a while. The rats kin if they want to."
Tossing the bread into a corner of the room, he went into his narrow cell, and stretched himself out upon his hard rough cot.
"Might as well take life easy," he soliloquized. "What's the use of worryin', anyway. Guess a nap'll do me good."
He had no intention of sleeping and was quite surprised when he at length opened his eyes and saw a young man standing by his side.
"Where in h—l am I?" the visitor unceremoniously asked.
Abner looked curiously at the man without replying. He noted his bloodshot eyes, unshaven, haggard face, unkempt hair, and dirty, dishevelled clothes.
"Are you deaf?" the fellow demanded. "Didn't you hear what I said?"
"Oh, yes, I heard, all right," Abner drawled. "But I was merely tryin' to figger out what part of the hot place you've jist come from."
The wild-eyed youth emitted a hoarse mirthless laugh. "I certainly have come from a hot place, the hottest I ever struck."
"Well, ye don't tell! Ye sartinly look it. Run up aginst somethin' pretty hard, eh?"
"Should say so. Greatest ever. A hen, a real livin' hen in the shape of a woman; that's what it was."
"My, my," Abner commented, now becoming much interested. "An' de ye consider ye'rself a man to be knocked out by sich a critter?"
"But you should have seen her. My G—d, it was awful! When she caught me by the hair with both hands, and pulled with all her might, I was sure my neck would be broken or my head would come off.
"That sartinly was some doin's, young man."
"Indeed it was, ye bet ye'r boots. And when she added her blood-curdling screeches to her claws, I thought for sure a whole bunch of wild cats was on my back."
"Look here, young man," Abner remarked, rousing to a sitting position. "You've had the D.T.'s; that's what's wrong with you. Guess ye've been seein' things."
"But it's Gospel truth, I tell you," the other insisted. "It was only last night, when I was taking a joy-ride in Dimock's car that it happened. I only meant a little fun at the old hen's expense, but, Lord! it proved the other way round."
The mention of Dimock's car made Abner fully alert, and in an instant he surmised that this was the chauffeur who had run away with his wife. His first feeling was one of anger, accompanied by a strong impulse to give the fellow a threshing. He banished this idea, however, as another method of punishment flashed upon his mind.
"So ye got more'n ye looked fer, eh?" he at length queried.
"Should say so. I didn't expect to find such a wild cat in that old hen."
"Easy, go easy there," Abner warned, as he slowly doubled up his fists. "Leave out all sich flourishes. They ain't becomin' when ye'r speakin' of a woman. Mebbe she's somebody's wife an' mother."
"I pity them, then, whoever they are," the young man replied. "Why, that she-devil ought to be put in a cage and placed on exhibition. When the car went into the ditch, because I couldn't see to steer, she bounded out like a rocket, seized a stick, and flew upon me like a whirlwind. My head and body are black and blue from her blows. It's a wonder I'm alive to tell the story."
"It sartinly is, young man, it sartinly is," Abner assented. "Ye'r lucky to be alive, though perhaps it'd have been better if she'd finished ye outright."
"I almost wish she had," was the mournful agreement. "I'm sick, nearly dead, and in jail, as far as I can see."
"Oh, cheer up, young man, ye'r troubles are jist beginnin'. The worst is yit to come. Ye'r in jail, all right, an' most likely ye'll stay here fer some time. But that ain't the worst that's comin' to ye."
"What do you mean?" and a look of fear came into the chauffeur's eyes.
"Oh, you'll find out later when the Queen of Sheby brings in damages. Then ye'll squirm, let me tell ye that."
"The Queen of Sheby! Who in the devil is she?"
"Why, the woman ye took fer a joy-ride last night. Ye see, she doesn't know much about autos. She's used to travellin' on camels, so I believe, an' they didn't go so fast."
"Travel on camels!" the other gasped.
"Sure. She travelled over hundreds of miles on them hump-backed critters to see old King Solomon several thousand years ago."
"Say, what are you giving me?" the chauffeur demanded. "Do you think I'm a fool? That wild cat is no queen and never was. She's the wife of Abner Andrews, a queer cuss, so I've heard, who lives at Ash Point. Do you know him?"
"Y'bet I do. Better'n his own brother. I've known him fer several thousand years."
The chauffeur did not reply, but stood staring at the man before him. He was trying to make out whether he was a fool or a madman.
"Yes," Abner continued, enjoying the other's astonishment. "I knew that old feller well when he was rich old Baron Rothschild, the Dook of Wellington, old Boney Part, an' the husband of the Queen of Sheby."
The chauffeur was now certain that Abner was making fun of him, and he was in no mood for any pleasantries.
"You must be a pretty old bird yourself," he retorted, "if you knew all of those guys. It's no wonder you've lost your brains, that is, if you ever had any. Who the devil are you, anyway?"
"Me? Oh, it doesn't matter much who I am. But if ye want to know, I'll tell ye as a great secret that I'm the Queen of Sheby's husband."
"The devil!"
"No, I ain't his Satanic majesty. I'm jist the Queen of Sheby's husband. She's allus ruled me, ye see, an' kept me to black her boots, button up her dress, an' do sich odd jobs that husbands are generally called upon to do. I have allus done as she said except that time several thousand years ago when she started to pay a visit to King Solomon. She had heard of his wisdom, an' thought she'd like to see him, an' hear some of his wise sayin's. But, my lands, when I bucked up, an' said she couldn't go, she landed upon me jist like she did upon you last night. I had to be put to bed, rubbed with palm-olive oil, an' fed like a baby fer a hull month. By the time I was able to set up the Queen was somewheres out in the desert on her way to the wise old king. I kin sartinly sympathize with you, young feller, fer I've been there meself, an' know what the Queen of Sheby is like when she gits roused."
"Look here," the chauffeur demanded, "are you kidding me or are you a blooming fool? I can't see any connection between that old queen and the creature that landed on me last night." He paused and a sudden look of fear leaped into his eyes. "Say," he gasped, "surely you're not Abner Andrews, are you?"
"I am an' I ain't. I was an' I isn't, so there ye are. Now kin ye jist tell me who I am, anyway?"
But the chauffeur did not wait to reply. He had retreated, and was out in the adjoining room when Abner had finished.
"Don't be skeered, young man," the latter remarked. "Ye can't run very fer in this hole, anyway, an' I kin ketch ye whenever I want ye."
"Oh, Lord!" the unhappy chauffeur groaned. "It's her husband, and he's crazy! What am I to do?"
"Hold ye'r tongue, that's what ye kin do," Abner roared. "De ye think I'm goin' to kill ye right off? That'd be too good fer the likes of you. Come in here an' set down, an' tell me why ye ran off with my queen."
"Your queen! Good heavens! Why didn't you tell me she belonged to you? Are you sure you're not crazy?"
"I will be soon if ye don't stop ye'r gab and set down. There, that's better," he continued, when the other had perched himself gingerly upon the edge of the cot. "Now, look here, young feller, I want to know why ye chose my queen fer ye'r joy-ride last night? It wasn't fer her beauty, or attractive manner, was it?"
"Oh, Jerusalem, no!"
"Well, why was it? Out with it."
But the young man held down his head, and made no reply. Abner studied him for a few minutes in silence.
"Did somebody put ye up to that job?" he presently enquired. "Don't be afraid to tell me. But if ye don't, I'll be as tender with ye as a cat with a mouse. Somebody set ye on, didn't he?"
"Yes," the chauffeur finally blurted out.
"Ah, I thought so. We're gittin' on nicely now with our little teeter game, you at one end, me at the other, an' someone in the middle. Now, who was that someone?"
"It was Lawyer Rackshaw; that's who it was."
"H'm, I guessed as much. I s'pose he paid ye fer the job?"
"Yes; money and whiskey."
"Ho, ho, money an' whiskey, eh? Well, I declare! An' all fer the sake of givin' the Queen of Sheby a joy-ride. He was sartinly kind. I wish he'd been along too."
"So do I, the mean devil. He got me into the fix, and he'll snap his fingers at me now."
"Will he?"
"Certainly. That's the kind he is."
"But can't you do somethin'?"
"Do! What can I do?"
"Swear to what ye've jist told me."
"Oh, yes, I'll swear to that at any old time. But what good will it do?"
"It might do ye a lot of good, an' me too."
"You!"
"Sure. I'm in this hole fer bein' a public benefactor, an' if you'll jist swear to what ye've told me, it might help us both out, see?"
"Have you something against Rackshaw?"
"Yes, a few things, more or less."
"Then I'll swear. But say, you'll not do anything to me for giving your wife that joy-ride last night, will you?"
"No, no, that's all right, now that I know who put ye up to it. But look here, young feller, take an old man's advice and let whiskey alone after this. It's put a good many more chaps than you in the ditch when they were joy-ridin' with women. Yes, whiskey an' women have sartinly got many a fine bright chap into trouble, as ye know from experience. Women ain't allus what they seem, an' it's hard sometimes to tell the difference between the Queen of Sheby an' Tildy Andrews, of Ash Pint."
CHAPTER XVII
FRIENDLY ADVICE
It seemed to Abner that all his friends had forsaken him. He paced up and down the room outside his cell most of the evening. The chauffeur was asleep, and his deep breathing was the only sound which broke the intense stillness which prevailed. The nap he had taken that afternoon drove all sleep from Abner's eyes. In fact, he could not have slept, anyway, as the story the chauffeur had told gave him food for much thought. So Rackshaw was at the bottom of it all, he mused. He had surmised as much, but he had no means of proving it until he had heard it from the lips of the wild-eyed youth. Perhaps the lawyer was responsible, too, for the article inThe Live Wire. How could the editor have obtained the information unless someone had communicated with him? The police, of course, could have done so, but they would not have twisted the story beyond all semblance of reality. He felt that Joe Preston was guilty, and deserved all that he had received. But was Rackshaw in league with him?
He was lost in such thoughts when he heard the jailor's approaching footsteps. The man was coming, no doubt, to lock him in his cell for the night. The thought of being confined in that narrow stuffy place for long hours angered him, so when he heard the key rattle in the lock he was in a most dangerous frame of mind. Accustomed as he was from childhood to unbounded freedom, and an abundance of fresh air, this close confinement in such poorly-ventilated quarters was most galling. He had started to walk back to the other end of the room as the key turned in the lock. He could hardly trust himself then, and he needed a few seconds to calm his feelings.
As the door swung open the jailor called to him, and demanded why he was running away. Fiercely Abner wheeled around, but the words of wrath which were glowing hot on his tongue suddenly cooled when he beheld Zeb Burns standing before him. For an instant he stood as if he had seen an apparition, staring hard at his neighbor. Zeb saw the look of astonishment, and the faint semblance of a smile lurked about the corners of his mouth.
"What's the matter, Abner?" he asked. "Ye look scared."
"So I am."
"What about?"
"You."
"Me! Why are you scared about me?"
"What have ye been doin', Zeb?"
"Doin'! What de ye mean?"
"But why are ye here? Have they got you, too?"
"Ho, ho, I see," and Burns laughed outright. "Ye think that because you're in the Klink everybody else is headin' the same way. But I guess there are a few sensible people left yit in the world, which is a mighty lucky thing."
"An' they're not goin' to lock you up too?" Abner asked in surprise. "Ye haven't been beatin' anybody up, eh?"
"Certainly not. What's the matter with ye, anyway, Abner? I'm here to take you out of this hole, so git a hustle on an' come with me at once. There now, never mind talkin'," he added. "We've got lots of time fer that later. I want to git away."
Like a child Abner followed Zeb out of the jail, and not until they had reached the street did he open his lips. Then he stopped, looked around, and drew in a long, deep breath of fresh air.
"My, that feels good!" he exclaimed. "The Lord never meant a man to be shut up in a place like that."
"I know he didn't," Zeb replied. "Neither did He intend that a man in his common sense should act the fool."
"De ye think I have?" Abner demanded.
"It looks very much like it. But, let's hurry up. I guess the judge will settle whether you are a fool or a lunatic, so it's no use fer us to spend our time arguin' about it."
"Where are ye goin'?" Abner asked.
"Home, of course. Where else would we go?"
"Did ye walk to town, Zeb?"
"Sure; I've no other means of conveyance, have I?"
"An' ye're goin' to walk home?"
"Guess so from present appearance."
"But Jerry's here," Abner explained. "Sam must know where he is."
"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?"
"Yes, you I mean!" the lawyer yelled, now fairly beside himself. "You are the cause of all this, an' I'll skin you alive, see if I don't, you miserable devil."
The grin vanished from Abner's face, his form suddenly straightened, and his eyes blazed. Walking slowly across the room, he stood before the angry lawyer.
"Jist say them words agin," he warned, in that drawling tone which betokened danger. "If ye're thinkin' of skinnin' me alive, as no doubt ye'll try to do, I might as well have my full satisfaction now. I'm in deep water as it is over Joe Preston, an' I feel jist in the mood to have another scalp scored to my credit. Another skunk like you won't make much difference, so jist say them words agin, will ye?"
Rackshaw was in a trap and knew it. His body shook and his eyes blazed fire. But he was an arrant coward, and the huge form bulked very large before him just then. He knew that Abner would not hesitate to deal with him as he had with Joe Preston, and he did not relish the thought of going to the hospital for repairs. As the two men thus faced each other, Zeb approached and laid a firm hand upon Abner's arm.
"Come along out of this," he commanded. "You're in enough trouble now. Don't be a fool. I'm losin' faith in this ancestor business of yours. St. Peter never acted like you're actin' to-night."
For an instant only Abner hesitated. He did long to give the lawyer something that was coming to him. But he knew that Zeb was right, and he followed him to the door. He couldn't refrain, however, from giving a parting shot ere he left.
"Don't fergit, Rackshaw," he reminded, "that country rats are not to be fooled with, no matter whether they walk on four legs or two. Keep ye'r city rats where they belong, and let them mind their own bizn'ess, an' ye'll have no trouble with country rats."
"Fer heaven's sake, hold ye'r tongue, an' come along," Zeb ordered. "I'm sick an' tired of all this confounded fuss."
"But would ye put up with sass from a thing like that?" Abner asked. "I wish I had punched his head."
"It's lucky ye didn't."
"Why?"
"You ought to know as well as I do. What kin you do aginst a lawyer? He'll make it hot fer you as it is. I don't know what's comin' over ye, Abner. I always knew that you were a queer critter, but I thought ye had some brains left."
For a wonder Abner made no reply, but walked along silently until the station house was reached. It was locked, and Sam was nowhere to be found. Upon enquiry from a man who was standing upon the platform, they learned that the agent had gone to a party out in the country, and had taken Jerry with him.
"Confound that feller!" Abner growled. "What right has he to run off with my hoss, I'd like to know?"
"He looked after him, though, when you were in the pen, didn't he?" Zeb queried.
"Sure, sure he did, an' I s'pose I must fergive him."
"Now you're beginnin' to talk like a reasonable man, Abner. It's the first sensible thing I've heard ye say to-night. But we've got to git home, so I guess there's nothin' else to do but to foot it. What de ye say?"
"I'm game, so let's git on."
They made their way through the town, and when they were at last out into the country, they filled and lighted their pipes as they trudged along. So far little had been said, but the soothing effect of the tobacco seemed to make them more communicable, and they discussed the affairs of the evening. Abner was unusually fierce in his denunciation of everything in general. He believed that he had been unjustly treated, and he longed for suitable retaliation. Zeb listened to him for some time without arguing. He knew that Abner must unburden his soul before he could feel better. At length, however, he stopped and laid his hand upon his companion's sleeve.
"Look here, Abner," he solemnly began, "I don't like ye to talk that way. It doesn't do any good."
"But it does me a lot of good to blow off steam," Abner retorted.
"Yes, mebbe it does. But remember, there's a great difference between blowin' off steam and bustin' ye'r biler, an' that's what you're in danger of doin'."
"But de ye think I'm goin' to put up with a hull bunch of rogues who are tryin' to down me?"
"An' ye'r helpin' them with ye'r actions, ain't ye?"
"What else am I to do? They'll walk over me rough shod if I don't put up a fight. If ye run away from a little snappin' cur he'll run after ye, an' bite ye'r heels, an' bark like mad. But turn around, face the critter, an' give it a good kick, an' then ye'll see how it'll scoot away with its tail between its legs."
"But suppose it isn't a cur, Abner, but a big bulldog, what then?"
"Why, I'd use a stick, or mebbe somethin' else."
"Yes, that's jist it. You'd do somethin' that ye'd regret all ye're life. Now, look here. You've got to stop all this. What you need is a change of heart."
"Change of heart!" Abner repeated. "Good Lord, what de ye mean by that? Ye haven't been attendin' a revival meetin', have ye, Zeb?"
"No, I haven't, an' don't intend to. But common sense tells me that a man won't accomplish much in this world when he is always rubbin' people the wrong way. Even a cat won't stand it fer long."
"The way I rubbed Rackshaw, Ikey Dimock an' Joe Preston, eh?" Abner asked.
"That's what I mean. It makes the sparks fly, an' soon there's a big fire which is hard to put out."
"What de ye expect me to do, then?"
"Rub people the other way, fer instance, and see how it'll work."
"Ho, ho," and Abner laughed outright. "Imagine me rubbin' Ikey Dimock an' Rackshaw, an' pattin' 'em on the back an' callin' 'em 'me dear friends.' No, I guess I'm too old a bird fer that. Never had the trainin', ye see. Anyway, it's no use now; it's too late. Everybody's dead set aginst me, an' is tryin' to do me."
"Everybody is not, Abner. I'm not, anyway, or else I wouldn't have taken all the trouble to walk to town to git ye out of jail."
"Sure, sure, I know you'd stand by me, Zeb. But, say, how did ye do it?"
"Do what?"
"Git me out of jail, of course."
"Oh, bailed ye out, that was all."
"But where did ye git the money?"
"Never mind where I got it. That's my own business, so don't say anythin' more about it."
Abner was silent for a few minutes as he plodded along.
"Say," he presently began, "does Tildy an' the gals know about this?"
"Can't say fer sure," was the reply. "But I don't believe they do. I jist heard of it by chance, but I never said a word to ye'r folks."
"That's good of ye, Zeb." And once more Abner became silent.
The night was dark, and when the men were about a mile from their homes it began to rain, first a gentle drizzle, then a steady downpour. They hastened their steps, but the roads became muddy and slippery, which made progress slow.
"Say, Zeb," Abner at length panted, "an' ye really think I need a change of heart?"
"Don't ye think so ye'rself?" was the evasive reply. "Is this rain softenin' ye up? It is me, at any rate, an' I'm gittin' soaked."
"But how kin I begin the change, Zeb?"
"Guess ye'll have to work out that sum ye'rself, Abner, if it's not too hard."
"Now, that's jist the trouble. It is too hard. Ye see, me ancestors are to blame. They were all fightin' men, an' so that spirit has come down to me."
"H'm," Zeb sniffed. "The trouble with you is that ye've chosen ye'r own ancestors."
"Chosen me own ancestors! How could a man do that?"
"Easy enough. Ye've got a quarrelsome spirit, Abner, an' ye naturally choose sich dead men as suit ye. Ye kin go to the past fer anythin', it seems t' me, jist as people go to the Bible to find what agrees with their way of thinkin'. Now, isn't that so?"
"But what am I to do, Zeb?"
"Think of men who have followed peace instead of war; men who have served their country an' sacrificed themselves. If ye kin do that, perhaps ye'll git their spirit, which, in my opinion, will do ye a great deal of good."
"Mebbe ye'r right, Zeb," Abner agreed. "But darn it all, I don't know nuthin' about men of peace who sacrificed themselves fer others. I've already sacrificed much fer Glucom by lookin' after Joe Preston. If that wasn't a good deed fer the welfare of the community, then I'd like to know what it was."
"But ye'r heart wasn't right, Abner," Zeb explained. "There was anger there, an' when ye knocked Joe out ye never thought of the public good, but of ye'r own personal injury. That's not the way. Git them good ancestors to work, then ye'll know what I mean, an' ye'll begin to rub people the right way. Life will be much more pleasant, see if it isn't."
"Good ancestors, rubbin' people the right way," Abner muttered, as he plodded along. "I'd like to know how to begin, skiddy-me-shins if I wouldn't."
CHAPTER XVIII
A MOIST RECEPTION
Abner was somewhat uneasy as to the reception he would be likely to receive at home. What would his wife say about the two waifs he had sheltered for the night and the ruined pillow-slips? Judging from past experiences, he felt quite sure that a lively time lay ahead of him, and he knew that he would need the combined spirits of all his peace-loving ancestors to aid him in keeping calm.
Thinking of such things, he walked slowly to the back door after he had parted from Zeb at the gate. He had no idea what time of the night it was, though he was sure that it was late, for the house was wrapped in complete darkness. He decided to slip in unnoticed and occupy the sofa in the kitchen for the night. And glad would he be to rest, for he was very tired after such a trying day and his long walk home.
Reaching the back door, he gently tried the latch, but it was firmly secured from within. He had partly expected this, as he knew how particular his wife was about fastening the doors before going to bed. She had often told about a robbery which had once taken place at a certain house because the back door had been left open. Abner thought she might have departed from her strict rule for this night, at least, in case of his return. It annoyed him to think how little his absence was considered by his own family.
Failing to find an entrance here, he at once remembered the window in the woodshed.
"Lucky fer me," he mused, "that I didn't fix that winder. That's a time when I was right, an' I won't fergit to remind Tildy of it, neither."
It was so dark that he made considerable noise as he walked around the end of the woodshed. He tripped over a pail, and when he had with difficulty recovered himself, the clothes-line, which had been drawn taut by the rain, caught him under the chin, and gave his head such a jerk that he was sure his neck was cracked. These mishaps by no means sweetened his temper, but he managed to restrain his feelings so far as speech was concerned, though, as he afterwards expressed it, he was "bilin' within."
It took him several minutes to find the window, and this he accomplished by feeling his way along the side of the building. When his hands at length reached the opening, which was about up to his shoulders, he gave a spring, caught his elbows upon the sill and pulled himself up. This was somewhat hard to do as Abner's body almost filled the opening. After two or three frantic wriggles he progressed far enough to balance himself upon his stomach upon the sill. Another wriggle and he would be through. But just at this critical juncture there was a sudden movement within the shed, a rush was heard, and then a flood of cold water was dashed into his face. With a half-smothered yell of surprise Abner recoiled, and ere he could regain himself, he lost his balance and fell sprawling upon the ground.
For a few seconds he lay there puzzled and half dazed. What did it all mean? he asked himself. Who could be in the woodshed at that hour of the night? Why had the water been thrown into his face? Then the terrible thought flashed into his mind that something must have happened to his family, that robbers might be in control of the house, who had committed some terrible deed. The silence of the house lent color to this suspicion, and a wild fury filled Abner's soul. He scrambled to his knees, then to his feet. He would teach the villains a lesson they would not soon forget. They would not escape his wrath, and he must be quick.
Hurrying around the building as fast as possible, he reached the door, and was about to force it open, when the sound of splashing water fell upon his ears, accompanied by a heavy thump upon the floor, as if somebody had fallen. Instantly a woman's wild shriek rent the air, mingled with children's cries of distress. Certain now that something was seriously wrong within, Abner put his shoulder to the door, which immediately gave way with a crash. This only tended to cause the cries and shrieks to grow louder than ever, and Abner was completely confused by the din. He could see nothing, and he did not know which way to step. He felt around through the blackness, but could touch nothing.
"Shet up ye'r yellin'," he roared, "an' tell me what's the matter."
This command had the desired effect, for the babel lessened.
"Abner, oh, Abner, is that you?" came a voice from his left, which he recognized as belonging to his wife.
"Sure, it's me," was the reply. "What in the divil does all this mean?"
"I thought you were a pack of robbers," Mrs. Andrews moaned. "Get a light, quick; I'm afraid I've killed one of the boys."
As Abner turned toward the kitchen a light suddenly illumined the darkness. Jess was coming, carrying a lamp in her hand, closely followed by Belle. Both girls were clad in their dressing-gowns, and their faces were white with fear.
"Daddy, daddy, what is the matter?" Jess asked.
"Look out, there, ye'll let that lamp fall," Abner warned. "Give it to me. My, ye're tremblin' all over."
"Oh, tell me what has happened," Jess pleaded. "Is anybody killed?"
"Sounds like somethin's dyin'," Abner replied, as he took the lamp from the girl's trembling hand and turned the light upon the shed. As he did so he saw a peculiar sight. Lying on the floor, with her back to the wall, was his wife, with an expression of misery depicted upon her face. On each side of her was a little boy, hopelessly entangled in the bed-clothes, and with wide staring eyes, filled with wonder and terror. Near by he saw three other little chaps also awake, and watching all that was taking place.
"What's the meaning of this?" Abner demanded. "An' what's all that water doin' on the floor? There's as much there as there is on me an' down me neck."
Mrs. Andrews made no reply. She seemed to be greatly overcome. At once Jess stooped down and put her arms around her mother's shoulders.
"Mother dear, are you sick?" she asked. "Let me help you up. Something dreadful must have happened. Come into the kitchen."
Breathing heavily and moaning, Mrs. Andrews was rescued from her lowly position, assisted into the kitchen, and placed upon a chair.
"I'm afraid I'm dying," the woman moaned. "I never had such a fright in all my life. It was worse than the auto."
"She's luney," Abner remarked. "Her brain's turned. Better git the smellin'-salts, Jess; they'll bring her to."
"My brain's not turned," was the emphatic and unexpected protest. "You're luney yourself, Abner Andrews, and everybody knows it. What do you mean by prowling about the house at this time of night, scaring people out of their wits?"
"An' what do people mean by sleepin' in the woodshed?" Abner retorted. "How did I know ye was there with a hull bunch of kids."
"They're some of yours, though, Abner. I have as much right to bring children into this house as you have. You needn't think that you run this place."
Abner was about to make a strong sarcastic reply, when he suddenly thought of his peaceful ancestors, and checked himself just in time.
"There now, me love," he replied in his most affable manner, "I know I don't run this place, an' never did. You run it so well, Tildy, that I wouldn't dare to interfere."
Abner felt quite proud of this effort, and smiled broadly upon his wife, expecting her to be astonished at these words. In this, however, he was disappointed. Mrs. Andrews was in no mood for soft words, and she viewed him critically from head to foot.
"Have you been drinking, Abner?" she asked. "Is that why you are so late coming home?"
"Drinkin'! Good Lord!" Abner gasped. "What makes ye think that I have, Tildy?"
"By the way you've acted ever since you came home. You first tramped around the house as if you were afraid to come in, and scared me most to death, and now you get off a whole lot of senseless nonsense. I never heard the like of it."
"No, I guess ye ain't used to sich things, Tildy. I've been in the habit of sayin' pretty nasty things, but I've had a change of heart, ye see, an' that makes the difference."
"A change of heart!"
"Sure," and Abner stroked his chin and smiled.
"Have you been to a revival meeting in town?" his wife demanded.
"No, not as bad as that. But I've had a change of heart, all right, an' I'm havin' a wonderful experience. I see all me good ancestors a-hoverin' over me head, smilin' an' breathin' upon me peaceful spirits. Oh, it's great! Don't ye wish you felt like that, Tildy? I think a new heart 'ud do you good, too."
"What I need is a new husband," was the scornful reply.
"But ye have a new husband, Tildy. He's come back to ye from the pit of destruction. He's changed, I tell ye, an' his heart is like the heart of a little child."
"And as simple, why don't you say? I'd like to know what's come over you."
"An' I'd like to know what's happened to you, Tildy. Why were ye sleepin' out in the woodshed? Were ye mournin' so much over me that ye couldn't stay in the old bed where we've slept fer years? Guess ye've got a warm spot in ye'r heart fer me after all, haven't ye?"
"It wasn't for your sake I was sleeping in the woodshed," Mrs. Andrews explained, "but to look after those children."
"Oh, I see; an' ye armed ye'rself with pails of water, eh?"
"I certainly did, as you should know."
Abner glanced down at his wet clothes and smiled.
"What happened to the other pail, Tildy?"
"I tripped over it; that's what I did."
"And landed upon the kids, ho, ho."
"Is it anything to laugh at? I might have killed the poor little things."
"Sure, sure, ye might, Tildy. It's nuthin' to laff at, oh, no. I shouldn't laff at anythin' like that when I've had a change of heart, should I? De ye think me good ancestors 'ud act that way?"
While this conversation was going on, Jess and Belle were attending to the children, soothing their fears and arranging the disordered bed-clothes. They had overheard the animated talk, nevertheless, and it amused them. They looked upon the whole affair as a joke when they knew that no harm had been done. Belle, especially, enjoyed the fun. It was the first real family scene of this kind she had witnessed since coming to Ash Point, although Jess had often told her that she might expect it at any time, but not to be at all alarmed when it did happen. They came back into the kitchen just as Abner was speaking about his peaceful ancestors.
"Don't you think you should go to bed, daddy?" Jess asked. "That seems to me to be the best way to settle all disputes to-night."
"Indeed, I do," Abner agreed, "'specially fer a man who wants to imbibe the spirits of his ancestors."
"I'm still convinced that you've been imbibing Tom Grogan's spirits," Mrs. Andrews replied. "Why, I can smell it on your breath, can't you, Jess?"
"I guess ye'r wrong this time, Tildy. Ye've never smelled the spirits of me ancestors, not by a jugful."
"Indeed, I haven't, and I hope to goodness I never shall," his wife retorted. "But get away to bed, all of you."
"I'm goin' to watch them kids fer the rest of the night," Abner announced.
"No, you're not," his wife declared. "I couldn't trust you with them. I've undertaken the job for to-night, and I intend to carry it through, so, away with you all, and let me get some rest."
Abner at once started off, humming as he went:
"When Bill Larkins made his money."
"When Bill Larkins made his money."
"When Bill Larkins made his money."
Mrs. Andrews and the girls watched him until he had disappeared. Then they looked at one another with wondering eyes. Jess was the first to speak.
"I'm afraid there's something wrong with daddy," she whispered.
"I'm sure of it," her mother replied. "He's either luney, or he's been drinking."
But Belle laughed at them.
"You needn't worry about him," she declared. "He's neither crazy nor drunk. He has more sense left than most men. It's only his way."
"Which way? I'd like to know," and Mrs. Andrews sighed. "He's had so many ways since we've been married that I don't know which way you mean."
"That may be so, Mrs. Andrews, but I believe this way is a good one, so we must not worry."
"Let us hope so," was all that Mrs. Andrews said. Nevertheless, she found it hard to get to sleep again, for she knew her husband better than either of the girls.