e him to abandon the
investigation so that they might "get out while the gettin' was good."

Suddenly there was a click, followed by a seismic rumble. The pulpit and
the platform on which it stood moved perceptibly. There were
simultaneous exclamations from three members of the party. Gizzard's
denoted triumph; Sube's delighted astonishment; and Cathead's nervous
apprehension. Cottontop was beyond words. He could only gasp.

Flushed with success, Gizzard began to dance around the front of the
altar, making unmistakable signs of derision, and shouting excitedly:

"Ya-da! Ya-da! What'd I tell you! What'd I tell you!"

Sube recovered his indifferent attitude at once.

"Well, we ain't _seen_ it yet, have we?" he said.

"You fellers help me push this here thing back and you'll see it in a
hurry!" cried Gizzard confidently.

All lent a hand except Cathead, who discreetly remained in the
background. And suddenly he gave a cry of warning.

"Look out there! You're movin' the whole blame' bus'ness!"

And indeed they were. Pulpit and platform rolled majestically back
several feet, disclosing to their popping eyes just such a pool as
Gizzard had described. When Gizzard had sufficiently recovered from his
surprise to find his voice, he demanded of Sube with the gruffness which
he was now entitled to employ:

"Ain't that there a swimmin'-hole?"

"Looks like one," Sube was forced to admit.

"Get onto them little steps goin' down into the water, jus' like I tole
you," Gizzard pointed out.

Sube did get on to them, first with his eyes, and then with his feet. He
squatted down and dipped his hand into the water. "Why, it's warm!" he
exclaimed.

"Sure it's warm," said Gizzard patronizingly. "Didn't I tell you it's
right on top the furnace, so's they can use it all winter?"

"Hadn't we better be gettin' that thing back?" asked Cathead, glancing
nervously towards the door.

"What for?" blurted Sube brazenly. "We jus' got her opened up!"

Cathead squirmed uneasily. "Somebody might come in and catch us. Ol' Joe
might come to take care of the furnace."

"Huh!" snorted Sube defiantly. "Who's afraid of ol' Joe? I ain't any
more afraid of him than I am of--" Sube looked about for a suitable
means of comparison--"of you!" he cried, pointing his finger at Cathead.
"And I guess you know how much that is."

"Well, then," argued Cathead, "somebody else might come in. Doc Mossman
might--!"

At the mere mention of the minister's