"It might rain reasons on Peakslow, forty days and forty nights,—he would shed 'em, as a duck does water," Jack replied. "Isn't it so, Mr. Betterson?"
"I have certainly found him impervious," said my lord.
"I might have stopped to argue with him, and threaten him with the law and costs of court, and perhaps have settled the matter for five or ten dollars. But the truth is," Jack confessed, "I lost patience and temper. I am not going to have any more words with him. Now let's drop Peakslow, and speak of something more important. That spring over in your woods, Mr. Betterson,—I've been looking at it. Is it soft water?" (Jack lifted a glass and sipped it;) "as good for washing as it is for the table?"
"It is excellent water for any purpose," said Mr. Betterson. "There is only one fault in that spring,—it is too far off."
"We are going to move the house up there, so as to have it handy," said Link.
"That is one of my young friend's jokes," said Jack. "But, seriously, Mr. Betterson, instead of moving the house to the spring, why don't you bring the spring to the house?"
"How do you mean? It doesn't seem quite—ah—practicable, to move a spring that way."
"I don't mean the spring itself, of course, but the water. You might have that running, a constant stream, in your kitchen or back-room."
"I apprehend your drift," said Betterson, helping Jack to a piece of prairie chicken. "You mean, bring it in pipes."
"Thank you. Precisely."