"Oh, no; they're red."
"Yes, but that's because of one of Jethro's smartnesses. Wonderful man, Jethro Somerton was. The way of it was this: a newcomer here that wanted to put on some style, like he'd been used to in Pennsylvany, got your uncle to order enough red paint for him to cover a big new barn. Just 'fore the paint got here the barn was struck by lightnin', an' the new barn had to be of rough slabs, an' the man was glad enough to get 'em, too. Meanwhile Jethro was stuck with a big lot o' red paint, for nobody else felt forehanded enough to paint a barn. Jethro cogitated a spell, an' then he said quite frequent an' wherever he got a chance, that Claybanks was a sad, sombre-lookin' place; needed color, specially in winter, to make it look kind o' spruce-like. That set some few people to white-washin' their houses, an' when them that couldn't afford to do that much kind o' felt that some o' their neighbors were takin' the shine off of 'em, Jethro up an' said, 'Any man can afford to paint his chimney red, anyhow, an' a red chimney'll brighten up any house.' So, little by little at first, but afterwards all at a jump, he got rid o' that lot o' red paint, an' had to order more, an' in the course o' time it got to be the fashion, quite as much as wearin' hats out o' doors."
"That explains," said Truett, apparently relieved at mind, "why I've not noticed the brick before. I've seen two or three foundation walls, but I supposed, from their color, that they were merely mud-stained. Now let me give you two men a great secret, on condition that you let me in on the ground floor of the business end of it. Brick of this quality and color, properly moulded and baked, is worth about three times as much as ordinary red brick: I'll get the exact figures within a few days. I know that there is money in sending it to New York, from no matter what distance. Some of it is used even in indoor decoration."
"Whe—e—e—ew!" whistled Philip.
"Je—ru—salem!" ejaculated Caleb. "To think that the clay has been here all these years without anybody knowing its real value!"
"How could any one be expected to know about anything that existed in an out-of-the-way hole-in-the-ground like Claybanks?"
"Sh—not so loud!" said Philip. "Such talk in any Western town is worse than treason."
"'Tis reason, nevertheless. There might be a vein of gold here, but how could the world ever learn of it? Who owns the clay banks? Can't we get an option on them?"
"They belong to the town, which charges a royalty of twenty-five cents per thousand bricks," said Caleb. "They've brought less than a hundred dollars, thus far."