It is no place for people to live. Everybody in Tutter says so. And I wondered why this new Ricks family had picked out such a lonely, spooky home.
It was a queer move for them to make.
We talked it over and exchanged opinions on the way into town. And when we came to the grove of pine trees, Scoop took me through a hole in the hedge and pointed out a brand new lock on the barn door.
A queer, droning sound weighted the air. I called the other’s attention to it. [[7]]
“Machinery,” said Scoop, nodding toward the east wing of the big barn. “Not farm machinery,” he explained, “but lathes for turning steel, and drillers. Pa helped unload the truck.”
“Mr. Ricks must be a machinist,” I said.
“I have a hunch,” said Scoop, “that he’s an inventor.” [[8]]