Ned gave his fat chum a dig in the ribs that made Bob grunt.
“Hey! What’s the matter with you?” he asked of Ned, indignantly.
“Oh, nothing. I was killing a mosquito that was biting you,” replied Ned, winking at Bob; whereat Chunky subsided.
“Well, my mother hasn’t quite made up her mind,” said Jerry, slowly, for the engineer seemed to expect him to say something. “I just thought I’d take a run out here. I wanted to see why the Universal Plaster Company wanted the land.”
“And I tell you, plainly, I don’t know,” said Mr. Fussel. “It may want it for building purposes, or the erection of some sort of a plant, or it may be trying to demonstrate a new method of drainage. All I know is that I was told to drain this swamp, and I’m doing it. You’ll see a big change here in a few weeks. You fellows can keep on working,” he said, addressing the laborers. “We’re only sinking experimental ditches now,” he resumed, “to ascertain the direction of the flow of the surface water.”
“There’s a lot of that yellow clay,” remarked Ned, half casually.
“Yes; isn’t there?” exclaimed Mr. Fussel. “It’s hard digging in it, too. Mr. Nixon was glad enough to part with his swamp land,” he continued, “and so was Colonel Wright. Now, when we get your mother’s strip, we’ll have the whole tract,” and he smiled at Jerry. He seemed to like to smile, perhaps to show his big white teeth.
“Well, perhaps she’ll sell,” spoke our tall hero. “I’ll tell her what I’ve seen, anyhow.”
Mr. Fussel went back to direct his men. Jerry and his chums walked about a little, but there was nothing more to see. It was gloomy and dismal in the swamp, and the mosquitoes were a pest. The boys’ hands and faces were badly bitten.