Uncle
Jap refused both. He was not going to be "flimflammed," no, sir! Not
twice in his life, _no, Siree Bob_! He, by the Jumping Frog of
Calaveras, proposed to paddle his own canoe into and over the lake of
oil. If the boys wished him to forgo the delights of that voyage, let
'em pungle up half a million--or get.
They got.
Presently, after due consultation with a famous mining engineer, Uncle
Jap mortgaged his cattle for the second time, and sank another well.
He discovered oil sand, not a lake. Then he mortgaged his land, every
stick and stone on it, and sunk three more wells. It was a case of
Bernard Palissy. Was Bernard a married man? I forget. If so, did he
consult his wife before he burnt the one and only bed? Did she
protest? It is a fact that Uncle Jap's Lily did not protest. She
looked on, the picture of misery, and her mouth was a thin line of
silence across her wrinkled impassive countenance.
When every available cent had been raised and sunk, the oil spouted
out. Who looked at the fountain in the patch of lawn by the old fig
trees? Possibly Mrs. Panel. Not Uncle Jap. He, the most temperate of
men, became furiously drunk on petroleum.
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