A farmer had stopped his team by the front gate.
"Mr.Boland!" he trumpeted through his hands.
Boland answered the hail and started for the gate, Ferdie following; the agriculturist flourished a letter, dropped it in the R.F.D.box, and drove on.
"Oh, la, la! The thick plottens!" observed Ferdie.
Francis Charles tore open the letter, read it hastily, and turned with sparkling eyes to his friend.

His friend, for his part, sighed profoundly.
"Oh Francis, Francis!" he chided.
"Here, you howling idiot; read it!" said Francis.
The idiot took the letter and read: DEAR MR.

BOLAND: I need your help.

Mr.Johnson, a friend of Stanley's--his best friend--is up here from Arizona upon business of the utmost importance, both to himself and Stanley.
I have only this moment had word that Mr.Johnson is in the most serious trouble.

To be plain, he is in Vesper Jail.