yback's
store, and his wife was now standing guard over it on the porch of the
Grand View Hotel.

[Illustration: _His wife was now standing guard over it on the porch of
the Grand View Hotel_]

Marshal Crow was issuing commands right and left, and the squad,
augmented by a step-ladder from the hardware shop, was about to enter
the hotel, when Mrs. Fox uttered an excited little shriek, and then
these desolating words:

"Oh, George, I've found it! I've got the key. It was away down in my
muff."

Before any action could be taken to restrain the impetuous young woman,
she was inserting the key in the lock!

Those nearest her collided violently with those farther away, and in
less time than it takes to mention it, there was no one within a radius
of fifty feet--except a new arrival on the scene.

To the intense horror of Mort Fryback, his wife emerged from the Grand
View Hotel and entered the danger zone.

"Hey, Maude!" he bellowed. "Keep away from that! For the love of--" He
clapped his hand over his eyes. Mrs. Fryback had reached the side of
the eager Mrs. Fox just as that lady lifted the lid of the box.

Now, Mrs. Fryback was Mort's third wife; according to longevity
statistics, she was much too young to die. As a matter of fact, she was
little more than a bride. That probably accounts for the brand-new mink
coat and muff she was sporting. Moreover, it accounts for Mort's
surprising mendacity and even more amazing humility in relation to the
taking-off of Mike. No doubt in similar circumstances, he would have
told his second wife, who died when she was pretty well along in years,
that he'd show her who was boss in his home, and if she didn't like what
he did to Mike, she could lump it. But, alas, between a vacillating
young wife who has you under her thumb and a constant old one who has
been thoroughly squashed under yours for a great many years, there is a
world of difference.

Others who stared in horror at the picture on the porch, groaned audibly
as young Mrs. Fox looked up into the face of the unsuspecting victim and
smiled. Thus encouraged, young Mrs. Fryback, disdaining death, smiled in
return and stooped over to look into the depths of that unspeakable box.
Instead of starting back in alarm, she uttered a shrill little cry of
delight, and dropping to her knees plunged both hands into the nest of
wriggling horrors!

Lucius Fry, who had hastily set up the step-ladder, and was now
balancing himself some