COUNTRY RATS

Lawyer Rackshaw was in such an excellent frame of mind that he invited Henry Whittles to spend an evening with him at his office. This was something unusual, and as the two men sat down to a friendly game of poker, Whittles wondered what scheme the lawyer had in his mind. That there was some object he was quite sure, as Rackshaw never did anything out of the ordinary unless for some definite purpose.

It was a cozy room, comfortably furnished, clean and neat. A large greyhound lay at his master's feet, with his nose between his paws.

"Do you always bring that dog with you?" Whittles asked, as he shuffled the cards.

"Only at night," the lawyer replied as he looked down fondly upon the fine brute. "I like to have him along then—for company."

"For fear of what your enemies might do, eh?" and Whittles smiled somewhat knowingly.

"Well, perhaps you're right. Pedro never has his supper before he comes here, as I am always expecting him to get a good meal before he gets home."

"One of your special enemies, I suppose."

"Sure."

"Has he eaten any yet?"

"Not a d—n one, though I expect he'll have a meal before long."

"To-night?"

"Oh, no," and the lawyer chuckled as he threw down a card. "The meal's in cold storage to-night as far as I know. But, then, one can never tell."

"Cold storage!" and Whittles' eyes opened wide as he paused in his play.

"Yes, in cold storage. Or, to be more exact, in jail. That's where the special meal is to-night."

"In jail! Why, man, what do you mean? Who's in jail?"

"Ho, ho! That's one on you, Hen, isn't it? Didn't know why I invited you here to-night, did you?"

"No; couldn't guess. Thought it must be something special, though."

"So it is, and I expected to have something special to drink, too. Confound that express company! It's as slow as cold molasses. I ordered something good for to-night, and it was to have been here before this."

"Going to drink the health of your special friends, are you?" Whittles queried, looking quizzically at the lawyer.

"To one friend only to-night, Hen. He's our mutual friend—a friend that sticketh closer than a brother, as the Good Book says, and whose tongue is as sharp as a razor, and stings like a hornet. That's the friend whose health we are going to drink to-night."

"I know of only one person who answers to your description," Whittles replied, "and that's Abner Andrews, of Ash Point. But he's no friend of ours."

"You're mistaken, Hen. He's my special friend, and yours, too, for that matter."

"Mine! H'm I guess you're astray there."

"Not at all. Didn't he offer a thousand dollars for that Orphanage?"

"A thousand be hanged! He offered it, but that's as far as it goes. He'll never pay a cent."

"Won't he? Well, we'll see about that. Anyway, he's got two kids at his home now. I sent them there last night so that he could start the Orphanage at once at Ash Point."

"You did!"

"Yes, and sent a note along, asking him how he liked town rats. My, they were a tough pair of youngsters, about as dirty as you'll find anywhere. 'Sloppy' Sue's kids, you know."

"Ho, ho, that's a good one," Whittles roared. "Have you heard from Abner since?"

"Sure. He did me a great favor this morning, and that's why I'm so friendly to him now."

"What did he do?"

"Walked into the office of The Live Wire, and smashed up Joe Preston so badly that he's in the hospital now getting patched up."

Whittles' eyes fairly started out of his head at this astounding piece of news, and he dropped his cards upon the table.

"What was it all about?" he at length found voice to ask.

"Oh, merely over that article in the paper about Mrs. Andrews running away with Ikey Dimock's chauffeur. I got the news from the police station late last night, and phoned it to the Wire. I knew that Joe would make the most of it, and get something in return. I'm mighty glad he did, for he's been very bumptious of late, and has rapped me pretty hard. Abner's saved me a nasty job."

"He did? Well, I declare!"

"Yes, and Abner's in jail, repenting, no doubt."

"Repenting? Not a bit of it. He's raging like a caged lion, if I'm not mistaken. My, how I'd like to have seen him at Joe. I've had no love for that fellow since he wrote that nasty skit about me last year. Did he put up much of a fight?"

"Who? Abner?"

"No; Joe."

"He tried to, so I heard, but he hadn't the ghost of a chance against that farmer giant. He came into the office, stuck a copy of the Wire before Joe's nose, and asked him if he had written that article about his wife. Joe got mad, blazed up, and consigned Abner to the hot place."

"Good Lord!" Whittles gasped. "Joe must have been crazy."

"If he wasn't crazy then, he was a few minutes later. Tom, the office boy, said it was terrible. Abner gave a roar like thunder and sailed into Joe. When the police arrived there wasn't much of Joe left, according to Tom. He was unconscious, and the office was badly damaged."

"Did the police have any trouble with Abner?" Whittles asked almost breathlessly.

"No, I guess not. He went like a lamb, though Tom said he had a wild look in his eyes."

Whittles suddenly gasped; his face turned deathly pale, and his hands trembled.

"What's wrong, Hen?" the lawyer asked, noting his companion's agitation. "I didn't know you were subject to nervous trouble. This story has upset you a bit. You need a stimulant. Why in thunder doesn't that express team show up!"

"Say, Tom," and Whittles leaned over the table, "suppose it had been you or me instead of Joe?"

"You or me! What do you mean?"

"Abner loves us about as much as he loved Joe this morning, doesn't he?"

"Oh, I see," and the lawyer rubbed his chin in a thoughtful manner. "I never thought of that."

"I know you didn't. Now, suppose Abner gets out of jail and learns who gave Joe that information, what then?"

Rackshaw shifted somewhat uneasily in his chair, and glanced down at the dog. Then he laughed and picked up the cards he had dropped upon the table.

"I guess Abner won't do any more of his wild stunts for a while," he remarked. "He's in deep enough water now. He'll need a lawyer to defend him, and I'm the only one in town."

"He won't come to you."

"Just you wait. He's in a trap and knows very well that I can get him out; that is, if I want to."

"Want to! Won't you want to get him out? Won't you do everything for him that you can if he engages you to defend him?"

"That all depends. If he comes to me I'll do all I can under certain conditions."

"What are the conditions?"

The lawyer bit savagely at his cigar, but offered no explanation.

"D—n that express team!" he growled. "What can have happened to it?"

"Abner can't afford to engage a lawyer, can he?" Whittles asked, noting Rackshaw's silence.

"Why not?"

"He hasn't any way of paying, has he?"

"He hasn't? What about his farm?"

"Farm! Why, that's nothing but a bed of gravel. I wouldn't have it as a gift."

"You wouldn't, eh? But suppose the Government should want that same bed of gravel for ballast, what then?"

Whittles' eyes opened wide, and he looked enquiringly at the lawyer. Light was beginning to dawn upon his mind.

"Oh, I see your game, now," he at length replied. "You hope to get the farm, and turn it over to the Government?"

"Yes, that's just what I expect to do."

"But you'll never do it."

"I won't? And why not?"

"Abner'll not engage you to defend him. He has little use for you, and you should know by this time what a cranky cuss he is."

"Well, if he won't engage me, I shall take up Joe's case."

"Do what?"

"Didn't you hear what I said? I'll defend Joe."

"But how can you? You love Joe ............