"Dirt?" Gilbert said, not understanding.
"Yes, look!" And the old man pointed to the bag.
"But whose bag is it?" Gilbert persisted.
Uncle Henry lifted a thin finger and directed it to Pell. "His'n!" he said.
But Gilbert was still in a daze.
"But what in the world could anybody be taking specimens of the soil around
here for?" he inquired, and then began to think.
"Just to show the character of the ground, to see what will grow best,"
Pell hastened to explain.
"But it won't grow nothin'--not even rocks, an' you know it," the occupant
of the wheel chair said. Then a new thought came to him, and he shot out,
"By golly, I got it! He's an oil man, ain't he?"
Pell, furious, cried, "Oh, shut up! You old busybody!"
"He wants to buy this ranch because there's oil here!" Uncle Henry went on,
not dismayed in the least at the other's insult.
"Bah!" Pell scornfully ejaculated.
Gilbert's face was a study. His eyes went from one to another in the room.
"Oil?" he said. "Oil?"
"Yes, an' that's why _he_ wants it, too!" cried Uncle Henry, pointing to
Hardy this time, "The big skin!"
Pell took up the satchel--the little bag that had caused such a big
sensation--and walked over to Uncle Henry's chair.
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