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Mrs. Rank squinted at him for a moment in doubtful surprise, and then smiled.

“My hussam tol’ you to shay that,” said she, shaking her finger at him.

“Not at all,–not at all! I’ve always said it, haven’t I, Anderson? Say yes, you old goat!” (He whispered the last, and the marshal responded nobly.) “Now, while we are waiting for Mr. Rank, perhaps you will tell us just why you want to cut his head off today. What has the old villain been up to lately?”

She composed herself for the recital. The two men looked down at her with pity in their eyes.

“He d’sherted me today,–abon–abonimably d’sherted me. For’n Missionary S’ciety met safternoon at our house. All ladies in S’ciety met our house. Deac’n tol’ me be generous–givvem all the r’fressmens they wanted. He went down shellar an’ got some zat shider he p’up lash Marsh. He said he wanted to shee whezzer it was any good.” She paused, her brow wrinkled in thought. “Lesh see–where was I?”

“In the parlour?” supplied Anderson, helpfully.

She shook her head impatiently. “I mean where was I talkin’ ’bout? Oh, yesh,–’bout shider. When Woman For’n Missinary S’ciety come I givvem shider,–lots shider. No harm in shider, An’erson,–so don’ look like that. Deacon shays baby could drink barrel shider an–and sho on an’ sho forth. Well, For’n Missinary S’ciety all havin’ splennid time,–singin’ ‘n’ prayin’ ‘n’ sho on ‘n’ sho forth, an’–an’ sho on ‘n’ sho forth. Then your wife, An’erson, she jumps up ‘n’ shays we gotter have shong-shervice,–reg’ler shong shervice. She–“

“My wife?” exclaimed Anderson. “Was Eva Crow there?”

“Shert’nly. Never sho happy ‘n’ her life. Couldn’t b’lieve my eyes ‘n’ ears. And Sister Jones too,–your bosh’s wife, Misser Squires. Say, d’you ever know she could shing bass? Well, she can, all right. She c’n shing bass an’ tenor’n ev’thing else, she can. She–“

“Where–where are they now?” demanded Anderson, with a wild look at Harry.

“Who? The Woman For’n Missionary S’ciety?”

“Yes. For heaven’s sake, don’t tell me they’re loose on the street!”

“Not mush! Promished me they wait till I capshered my hussam, deader ‘live, an’ bring ‘im ‘ome. Didden I tell you my hussam desherted me? He desherted all of us–all of For’n Missinary S’ciety. I gotter bring ‘im back, deader ‘live. Wannim to lead in shong shervice. My hussam’s got loudes’ voice in town. Leads shingin’ in chursh ‘n’ prayer meetin’ ‘n’ ever ‘where else. Loudes’ voice in town, thass what he is. Prays loudes’ of anybody, too. All ladies waitin’ up my house f’r loudes voice in town to lead ’em in shacred shong. Muss have somebody with loud voice to lead ’em. Lass I heard of ’em they was all shingin’ differen’ shongs. Loudes’ voice–lou’st voich–lou–“

She slumbered.

The marshal and the editor looked at each other.

“Well, she’s safe for the time being,” said the latter, wiping his wet forehead.

“An’ so’s the deacon,” added Anderson. “See here, Harry, I got to hustle up to the deacon’s house an’ see what c’n be done with them women. My lordy! The town will be disgraced if they get out on the street an’–why, like as not, they’ll start a parade or somethin’. You stay here an’ watch her, an’ I’ll–“

“No, you don’t, my friend,” broke in Harry gruffly. “You get her out of this office as quickly as you can.”

“Are you afraid to be left alone with that pore, helpless little woman?” demanded Anderson. “I’ll take her hatchet away with me, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“If you’d been attending to your job as a good, competent official of this benighted town, the poor, helpless little woman wouldn’t be in the condition she’s in now. You–“

“Hold on there! What do you mean by that?”

“I mean this, Mr. Shellback Holmes. A dozen people in this town have been buying up apples and grinding them and making cider of them as fast as they could cask it ever since last January. Making it right under your nose, and this is the first you’ve seen of it. There’s enough hard cider in Tinkletown at this minute to pickle an army. See those bottles over there under Bill’s stool? Well, old Deacon Rank left ’em there because he was afraid he’d bust ’em when he made his exit through that window. He told Bill Smith he could keep them, if he would assume his indebtedness to this office,–two dollars and a quarter,–and he also told Bill that he could guarantee that it was good stuff! We’ve got visible proof of it here, and we also know how the damned old rascal went about testing the quality of his wares. He has tried it out on the most highly respected ladies in town, that’s what he’s done,–and why? Because it was the cheapest way to do it. He didn’t have to waste more than a quart on the whole bunch of ’em. Sure fire stuff! And there are barrels of it in this town, Mr. Shellback Holmes, waiting to be converted into song. Now, the first thing you’ve got to do is to take this unfortunate result of prohibition home and put her to bed.”