Reeves. "Wonder where this thing's goin' to stop?"
When he had vanished into the storeroom, Ruthven and Summerfield winked at each other and slyly smiled. "Here's where we land on that little upstart," said the agent. "He's got a surprise coming."
"Surest thing you know," the other agreed.
They watched from the front of the office while Reeves emerged from the storeroom and placed the package on the scales. He looked once at the tilted beam, then turned away to his work with a grunt of disgust.
"Ah, ha!" jeered Summerfield. "Now what do you think, you loquacious false alarm? Struck you dumb, didn't it?"
"Oh, look; go look!" snorted the driver.
Summerfield and Ruthven walked to the packing scales. Both bent down, smiling, then started erect with astounded eyes on each other. The package weighed six pounds!
The agent staggered to the water cooler and took a drink. Then he unbuttoned his collar. "I've got to have air," he gasped.
"I don't see why," said Al. "You're fuller of hot air than a balloon. Say, you make me tired. Is this all for Seventeen? Gi'me that!" he added, holding out his hand for the Barton package. "It's goin' west, and I want to tote it away from this hang-out before Joe gets any worse'n he is."
Ruthven was examining the package, his eyes wide with amazement. "Look here, Summerfield!" he called. The agent walked over to him. "See that?" And Ruthven indicated a penciled cross at one end of the package under the cord.
"What of it?" asked Summerfield.
"Last evening, while you weren't looking, Miss McKenzie and I put that private mark on the package, so we could identify it later, if we wanted to. There it is. That makes this mystery brain-staggering. My wits are all scrambled. Hanged if I can make head or tail of it."
"Same here. But what's the use of bothering? The package leaves this office as per waybill. Load it up, Al," he added.
"Wait a minute!" interposed Ruthven. "Phone The Emporium and ask Long or McKenzie to come down here. We'll have one of the shippers open the package and show us what it is that shifts its weight from six to eight and nine pounds and then back to six again. Hanged if I can rest till we know more."
"I can tell you what it is," said the driver; "imagination, that's what. You'll have to hurry—I don't want to miss Seventeen."
"You've got a whole hour, even if Seventeen is on time," returned Summerfield, and went to the phone. After a few minutes he hung up and turned away. "Long and McKenzie are both coming," he announced. "Maybe they can shed a little light on this business. Good idea, Ruthven, and I'm glad you suggested it."
In five minutes the two partners came into the express office. "What's to pay, Joe?" wheezed Long, wiping the perspiration from his fat face as he leaned over the counter. "Think we're shippin' clockwork bombs by express, same as that holdup man done a spell ago and blowed up a car and wrecked a train? What ails that Barton package, anyhow?"
"It has a way of getting heavy and then light," explained the agent, a little sheepishly, for the matter seemed too absurd for serious consideration. "Mind telling us what's in it, Mr. Long?"
"What do you mean, gets heavy and then light?" queried the senior partner.
The agent explained, and Long laughed till he almost choked. "You're
