Gilbert's face was a study. His eyes went from one to another in the room. "Oil?" he said. "Oil?"
"Yes, an' that's why he wants it, too!" cried Uncle Henry, pointing to Hardy this time, "The big skin!"
Pell took up the satchel—the little bag that had caused such a big sensation—and walked over to Uncle Henry's chair.
"Why, you poor old dotard, there's no oil in these specimens. You can smell 'em yourself if you want to," he said. But there was something in his manner of the lady who doth protest too much.
"No, I can't," Uncle Henry was swift to deny. "My smeller's no good." He sniffed comically—as if that proved his point.
"Let him examine them, then," suggested Pell, holding the satchel out to Gilbert, who stood on the other side of the table.
But Gilbert said nothing. It was Uncle Henry who again blurted out:
"That don't prove nothin'. Mebbe he hasn't found the oil yet. But it's here! If it ain't, why should you be fightin' so hard to get this rotten place? Tell me that, will you? Nobody else ever wanted it—except this kindly neighbor of ours!" He glared at Hardy triumphantly.
Pell was silent. Gilbert came to himself.