After lunch the boys sat down to write some letters and to read some newspapers which had just come in. In the news was word of some big oil well strikes at a place about forty miles distant.
"Gosh! look at this, will you?" cried Fred, pointing to the article. "Two wells just came in, and each of them good for twelve hundred barrels of oil a day! Now that's what I call something like!"
"Wouldn't it be glorious if my dad could strike something like that?"
"I wish we could hit half a dozen wells, then our dads could start The Rover Oil Company. We'd make money hand over fist. Wouldn't that be grand!"
"You keep on and you'll be dreaming of oil," laughed Jack.
"It certainly is the land of luck," returned Randy.
"It doesn't look like the land of luck for this fellow," remarked Fred, pointing to a ragged and unkempt individual who had just entered the reading room of the hotel. The man was about middle age, and had a most decidedly dejected appearance.
"I was wondering if you young gents couldn't aid me a little?" he whined, coming up to Jack and Randy. "I've been playing in mighty hard luck lately. I haven't had a square meal in two days."
"What's the matter—can't you get a job?" asked Jack.
"Job! What do you mean?" questioned the unkempt individual in wonder.