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found the magnate overflowing his office chair as he pressed against his flat table thumbing through a stack of papers and making some sort of calculation. For while the fat man could neither read nor write, he had worked out for himself some sort of mathematical system by which he computed his problems with accuracy.

The financier looked up abstractedly as Sandage entered, his little burnt-out eyes blinking in his yellow expanse of face.

"Mr. Jones, this here is Abner Teeftaller."

The railroad builder became aware of Abner. "Yes, I know Abner, worked for me—mighty good han' too."

The trustee cleared his throat. "Well, now, Abner—er—got in a little trouble over in Arntown, Mr. Jones."

"Yes," nodded the magnate benevolently, "I believe I heard it mentioned."

"So we come to see you about it. I been listenin' to what Abner says, an' it looks to me like there had been some sculduggery worked on the boy."

The fat man became attentive. "You think they might be somethin' behin' them fellers chasin' Abner out o' Arntown?"

"Yes, I do," nodded the trustee, using the hard tone of resentment. "It ain't usual for men to git drummed out of town for what Abner was drummed out for; if they did, most of the towns here in Lane County would be empty."

"Of course, they is usually politics behin' ever'thing," generalized the magnate, "but jest answerin' you by an' large, I shouldn't be supprised at nothin'."

At this vague statement, Sandage turned to the young man. "I told you so, Abner." Then he continued to the financier.

"Now, Mr. Jones, you're a better lawyer than half the bar here in Lanesburg, what do you think of Abner's chanst of makin' Perry Northcutt an' them whitecaps pay damnages?"

"Knowin' Perry as I do, I shouldn't say he had much chanst."