Flannery ran all the way back to the express office. Sixty-nine
guinea-pigs had been born during his absence. He ran out again and made
feverish inquiries in the village. Mr. Morehouse had not only moved, but
he had left Westcote. Flannery returned to the express office and found
that two hundred and six guinea-pigs had entered the world since he left
it. He wrote a telegram to the Audit Department.

"Can't collect fifty cents for two dago pigs consignee has left town
address unknown what shall I do? Flannery."

The telegram was handed to one of the clerks in the Audit Department, and
as he read it he laughed.

"Flannery must be crazy. He ought to know that the thing to do is to
return the consignment here," said the clerk. He telegraphed Flannery to
send the pigs to the main office of the company at Franklin.

When Flannery received the telegram he set to work. The six boys be had
engaged to help him also set to work. They worked with the haste of
desperate men, making cages out of soap boxes, cracker boxes, and all
kinds of boxes, and as fast as the cages were completed they filled them
with guinea-pigs and expressed them to Franklin. Day after day the cages
of guineapigs flowed in a steady stream from Westcote to Franklin, and
still Flannery and his six helpers ripped and nailed and
packed--relentlessly and feverishly. At the end of the week they had
shipped two hundred and eighty cases of guinea-pigs, and there were in the
express office seven hundred and four more pigs than when they began
packing them.

"Stop sending pigs. Warehouse full," came a telegram to Flannery. He