“Oh, sure, I know—cold—not plant now—plant by next summer time. Just dig now—maka da holes.”
“Holes!” exclaimed Bob.
And then he became aware of some curious digging operations that the Italian had been carrying on. There were a number of deep holes here and there in the bramble patch—holes newly dug.
CHAPTER XIV
A NIGHT PURSUIT
Smilingly, Pietro Margolis leaned on his spade and regarded Bob Dexter. The Italian had been using a spade to good advantage in the bramble patch of old Hank Denby.
“You plant these monkey nuts very deep, don’t you?” asked Bob, calling the objects the Italian had shown him “nuts,” though he was not certain on this point.
“Sure—got to be deep,” said the organ grinder, though he had temporarily abandoned that occupation it seemed. “No deep—no grow.”
He tossed into the last hole he had dug a few of the dried objects from his coat pocket, shoveled in the earth and tramped it down.
Bob Dexter knew, or thought he knew, something of farming.