"There's one thing certain," said Bob, triumphantly, as he stood upon the sponge-like bank which afforded him so much satisfaction to see. "Those who have laughed at me because I insisted that the oil belt extended in this direction would feel kind of foolish if they could see this, wouldn't they?"
"But is it what you might call a good showing?" asked Ralph, still incredulous that this land, which they had purchased only through charity for Mr. Simpson, should prove so valuable.
It seemed to him that Bob must be mistaken, or those living in the vicinity would have discovered it some time before.
"Well, I should say it was a good showing," cried Bob, excitedly. "Why, Gurney, there isn't one well out of twenty that are sunk which looms up like this. It will yield a thousand barrels if it yields a pint."
The only question, then, as to whether it was really valuable property, it would seem, was whether it would yield the pint; and, if one could judge from Bob's face, there was no doubt about that.
He was radiantly triumphant—not that he had discovered the oil, for others had done that before him, but that his views on the location of the oil belt had proved correct, and he was determined that by his efforts the supply should be made to yield, even though he could have no pecuniary interest in the matter.
"We'll sink the well here, and I'll begin the work this very afternoon," he said. "But first we must go back to the house, and we'll mark our way, so that there'll be no difficulty about finding the spot again."
Then Bob started toward the farm-house, walking rapidly, as if his feet could hardly be made to keep pace with his thoughts, and breaking off the tops of the bushes to mark the way.
"But how are you going to work without money?" asked Ralph, almost doubting if his companion was quite right in his mind.
"Do you think that a sight of that place isn't as good as a big bank account? Why, we only need about three thousand dollars to do it all."