find a
suitable deposit of this rare black mud. If I have at last found it,
Mr. Bubble, I wish to congratulate you and Blakeville, as well as
myself, upon the acquisition of an enterprise which will not only
reflect vast credit on your charming and progressive little town, but
will bring it a splendid accession of wealth."

Mr. Bubble rose from his chair and shook hands with young Wallingford
in great, though pompous, emotion.

"My son," said he, "go right ahead. Take all of it you want--that
is," he hastily corrected himself, "all you need for experimental
purposes." For, he reflected, there was no need to waste any of the
rare and valuable Etruscan black mud. "I think I'll go with you."

"I'd be pleased to have you," said Wallingford, as, indeed, he was.

On the way, Wallingford stopped at Hen Moozer's General Merchandise
Emporium and Post-Office, where he bought a large tin pail with a
tight cover, a small tin pail and a long-handled garden trowel which
he bent at right angles; and seven people walked off of Hen Moozer's
porch into the middle of the street to see the town magnate and the
resplendent stranger, driven by the elated Bob Ranger, whirl down
Maple Street toward Jonas Bubble's swamp.

Arrived there, who so active in direction as Jonas Bubble?

"Bob," he ordered, protruding his girth at least three inches beyond
its normal position, "hitch those horses and jump over in the field
here with us. Mr. Wallingford, you will want this sample from
somewhere near the center of the swamp. Bob, back yonder beyond that
clump of bushes you will find that old flatboat we had right after
the big rainy season. Hunt around down there for a long pole and pole
out some place near the middle. Take this shovel and dig down and get
mud enough to fill these two buckets."

Bob stood unimpressed. It was not an attractive task.

"And Bob," added Wallingford mildly, "here's a dollar, and I know
where there's another."

"Sure," said Bob with the greatest of alacrity, and he hurried back to
where the old flatboat, water-soaked and nearly as black as the swamp
upon which it rested, was half submerged beyond the clump of bushes.
When, after infinite labor, he had pushed that clumsy craft afloat
upon the bosom of the shallow swamp, Mr. Bubble was on the spot with
infinite direction. He told Bob, shouting from the shore, just where
to proceed and how, down to the handling of each trowelful of dripping
mud, and even to the emptyin