dinner, and in the afternoon he took
Miss Fannie driving behind the handsome bays. While she was making
ready, however, he took Jonas Bubble in the rig and drove down to the
swamp, where they paused in solemn, sober contemplation of that vast
and beautiful expanse of Etruscan black mud. Mr. Bubble had, of
course, seen the glowing letter of Vittoreo Matteo shortly after its
arrival, and he was not unprepared for J. Rufus' urgency.

"To-morrow," said J. Rufus, as he swept his hand out over the swamp
with pride of possession, "to-morrow I shall exercise my option;
to-morrow I shall begin drainage operations; to-morrow I shall order
plans prepared for the first wing of the Blakeville Etruscan Studios,"
and he pointed out a spot facing the Bubble mansion. "Only one thing
worries me. In view of the fact that we shall have a large pay-roll
and handle considerable of ready cash, I regret that Blakeville has no
bank. Moreover, it grates upon me that the thriving little city of my
adoption must depend on a smaller town for all its banking facilities.
Why don't you start a bank, Mr. Bubble, and become its president? If
you will start a subscription list to-morrow I'll take five thousand
dollars' worth of stock myself."

To become the president of a bank! That was an idea which had not
previously presented itself to the pompous Mr. Bubble, but now that it
had arrived it made his waistband uncomfortable. Well, the town needed
a bank, and a bank was always profitable. His plain civic duty lay
before him. President Bubble, of the Blakeville Bank; or, much better
still, the Bubble Bank! Why not? He was already the most important man
in the community, and his name carried the most weight. President
Bubble, of the Bubble Bank! By George! It was a good idea!

Meanwhile, a clean, clear deed and title to forty acres of Jonas
Bubble's black mud was recorded in the Blake County court-house, and
J. Rufus went to the city, returning with a discreet engineer, who
surveyed and prodded and waded, and finally installed filtration boxes
and a pumping engine; and all Blakeville came down to watch in solemn
silence the monotonous jerks of the piston which lifted water from the
swamp faster than it flowed in. For hours they stood, first on one
foot and then on the other, watching the whir of the shining
fly-wheel, the exhaust of the steam, the smoke of the stack, and the
gushing of the black water through the big rubber nozzle to the
stream which ha