“And I—we are willing to back our confidence in your camp by the expenditure of a reasonable amount, in order to find out; but, gentlemen, you’ve raised your sights too high. Your figures’ll have to come down if we do business. A prospect isn’t a mine, you know, and there’s not been much development work done, as I understand.”
“How was you aimin’ to work it,” Uncle Bill asked mildly, “in case you did git anything? The Mascot burned its profits buyin’ wood fer steam.”
“The riddles of yesterday are the commonplaces of to-day, my friend. The world has moved since the arrastre was invented and steam is nearly as obsolete. Hydro-electric is the only power to-day and that’s what I—we—propose to use.”
Ore City’s eyes widened and then they looked at Uncle Bill. What drawback would he think of next? He never disappointed.
“There ain’t water enough down there in Lemon Crick in August to run a churn.”
Mr. Dill laughed heartily: “Right you are—but how about the river down below—there’s water enough in that, if all I’m told is true.”
For once he surprised the old man into an astonished stare.
“The river’s all of twenty mile from here.”
“They’ve transmitted power from Victoria Falls on the Zembesi River, in Rhodesia, six hundred miles to the Rand.”
Chortling, Ore City looked at the camp hoodoo in triumph.—That should hold him for a while.