the
final disappearance of everything, except that dark, eight-acre spot
of Silas Trimmer's, which might remind one of the tract once known as
the Westmarsh. In its place lay a broad, yellow checker-board, formed
by intersecting streets of asphalt edged with cement pavements, and in
the center, at the crossing of broad Burnit and Applerod Avenues,
there arose, over a spot where once frogs had croaked and mosquitoes
clustered in crowds, a pretty club-house, which was later to be
donated to the suburb; and a great satisfaction fell upon the soul of
Bobby Burnit like a benediction.

Also one Oliver P. Applerod added two full inches to his strut. He
seldom came out to the scene of actual operations, for there was none
there except workmen to see his frock-coat and silk hat; but
occasionally, from a sense of duty inextricably mingled with
self-assertiveness, he paid a visit of inspection, and upon one of
these his eyes were confronted by a huge new board sign, visible for
half a mile, that overlooked the Applerod Addition from the hills to
the north. It bore but two words: "Trimmer's Addition." Applerod,
holding his broadcloth tight about him to keep it from yellow
contamination as a car rumbled by, looked and wiped his glasses and
looked again, then, highly excited, he called Bobby to him.

"Why didn't you tell me of this?" he demanded, pointing to the sign.

Bobby, happy in sweater and high boots and liberal decorations of
clay, only laughed.

"The sign went up only yesterday," he stated.

"But it is competition. Unfair competition! He is stealing our
thunder," protested Applerod.

"He has a perfect right to lay out a subdivision if he wants," said
Bobby. "But don't worry, Applerod. I've been over there and the thing
is a joke. The tract is one-fourth the size of ours, it is uphill and
downhill, only a little grading is being done, streets are cut through
but not paved, and a few cheap board sidewalks are being put down.
He's had to pay a lot more for his land than we have, and can not sell
his lots any cheaper."

"There's no telling what Silas Trimmer will do," said Applerod,
shaking his head.

"Nonsense," said Bobby; "there is no chance that people will pass by
our lots and buy one of his."

Applerod walked away unconvinced. Had it been any one else than Silas
Trimmer who had set up this opposition he would not have minded so
much, but Applerod had come to have a mighty fear of John Burnit's
ancient enemy,