batty, jest batty!" he said. "Here, I'll show you what's in it."
He reached for the package, carefully untied and removed the string, and took out a heavy pasteboard box. Removing the cover of the box, he held up the tan bluchers with the eighteen-inch tops. "Jest boots," he chuckled.
"For your uncle, Thomas Barton, Mr. Ruthven," put in McKenzie. "He always sends to our store for that sort of footgear."
"Orders a pair every summer," added Long.
"Anything inside those boots?" inquired Ruthven.
"See for yourself."
Ruthven turned both boots upside down and shook them. In order to further convince himself, he ran a hand into each of them. "Nothing inside," he announced. Then he examined the box. It was perfectly empty and had contained only the boots.
McKenzie wrapped up the package again, carefully adjusting wrapper and string in the old creases so as not to disturb the express company's marks. Thereupon the partners went away again, Long fairly strangling with mirth.
"Jest boots," whispered Summerfield to Ruthven. "Load 'em up, Al!" he added vigorously to the driver. "See how quick you can get 'em away from here."
CHAPTER IV.
ANOTHER JOLT.
MAYBE them boots gather moisture from the air," suggested the driver, with mock gravity, "and then maybe they dry out again. That's the how of it, Joe. They took on three pounds o' dampness last night, and then shed it this morning."
"If you'd dry up a little yourself, I'd like it mighty well!" growled Summerfield.
"Maybe they're seven-league boots, and full of hocus-pocus," went on Reeves, moving toward the front door with the package.
"There'll be a massacre around here if you don't quit!" yelled the agent darkly.
"There was somethin' I wanted to tell you," went on the driver from the door, "and I plumb forgot it till now. Lois McKenzie went east on Six, at eight-thirty. I saw her gettin' on the train."
"What!" exclaimed Summerfield.
Reeves repeated his statement. "Didn't you know?" he added. "She wasn't totin' any luggage, and like as not she has skipped town to get rid of the express agent." With which unfeeling comment the freckle-faced driver took himself off, climbed into his wagon, and drove away.
"I can't understand this," muttered Summerfield. "Lois never said a word last night about leaving town. There's something in the wind that I can't understand. Lois hasn't seemed at all like herself for a week or more."
"Bosh!" exclaimed Ruthven. "That's only your imagination, Summerfield!"
"Everything seems to be getting my goat the last few days," remarked the agent. "Even a pesky trifle like that Barton package gets me all up in the air. Well, I'm going to find out about Lois, right now."
He turned to the telephone and called for Long & McKenzie. Long answered, and Summerfield asked for McKenzie. Ruthven, leaning on the counter, was so close to the telephone that he could hear what came over the wire.
"Mac ain't here," said Long.
"This is Summerfield, at the express office. Can you tell me where I can find Mr. McKenzie?"
"He went down to the train to meet his daughter. She's comin' in on Seventeen."
"I didn't know till just a moment ago that Lois was out of town."
