When he climbed back into the buggy, Bob, finding it impossible longer to restrain his quivering curiosity, asked him:
“What’s it good for?”
“I can’t tell you just yet,” said Wallingford kindly4, “but if it is what I think it is, Bob, I’ve [Pg 252]made a great discovery, one that I am sure will not only increase my wealth but add greatly to the riches of Blakeville. Do you know where I could find Jonas Bubble at this hour?”
“Down at the mill, sure.”
“Drive down there.”
As they drove past Jonas Bubble’s house they saw Miss Fannie on the back porch, in an old wrapper, peeling potatoes, and heard the sharp voice of the second Mrs. Bubble scolding her.
“Say,” said Bob, “if that old rip was my stepmother I’d poke5 her head-first into that swamp back yonder.”
Wallingford shook his head.
“She’d turn it black,” he gravely objected.
“Why, it is black,” protested Bob, opening his eyes in bewilderment.
In reply to this Wallingford merely chuckled6. Bob, regarding him in perplexity for a while, suddenly saw that this was a joke, and on the way to the mill he snickered a score of times. Queer chap, this Wallingford; rich, no doubt, and smart as a whip; and something mysterious about him, too!
Wallingford found Jonas Bubble in flour-sifted garments in his office, going over a dusty file of bills.
[Pg 253]
“Mr. Bubble,” said he, “I have been down to your swamp and have investigated its possibilities. I am now prepared, since I have secured the right to purchase this land, to confide7 to you the business search in which I have for some time been engaged, and which now, I hope, is concluded. Do you know, Mr. Bubble, the valuable deposit I think I have found in my swamp?”
“No!” ejaculated Bubble, stricken solemn by the confidential8 tone. “What is it?”
Wallingford took a long breath, swelling9 out his already broad chest, and, leaning over most impressively, tapped his compelling finger upon Jonas Bubble’s knee. Then said he, with almost tragic10 earnestness:
“Black Mud!”
Jonas Bubble drew back astounded11, eying Wallingford with affrighted incredulity. He had thought this young man sane12.
“Black—” he gasped14; “black—” and then hesitated.
“Mud!” finished Wallingford for him, more impressively than before. “High and low, far and near, Mr. Bubble, I have searched for a deposit of this sort. Wherever there was a swamp I have been, [Pg 254]but never until I came to Blakeville did I find what I believe to be the correct quality of black mud.”
“Black mud,” repeated Jonas Bubble meaninglessly, but awed15 in spite of himself.
“Etruscan black mud,” corrected Wallingford. “The same rare earth out of which the world famous Etruscan pottery16 is manufactured in the little village of Etrusca, near Milan, Italy. The smallest objects of this beautiful jet-black pottery retail17 in this country from ten dollars upward. With your permission I am going to express some samples of this deposit to the world-famous pottery designer, Signor Vittoreo Matteo, formerly18 in charge of the Etruscan Pottery, but who is now in Boston waiting with feverish19 impatience20 for me to 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 pompous21, emotion.
“My son,” said he, “go right ahead. Take all [Pg 255]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 bent22 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 Ranger23, whirl down Maple24 Street toward Jonas Bubble’s swamp.
Arrived there, who so active in direction as Jonas Bubble?
“Bob,” he ordered, protruding25 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 clump26 of bushes you will find [Pg 256]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 shovel27 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 alacrity28, 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 labor29, he had pushed that clumsy craft afloat upon the bosom30 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 emptying of each small pailful into the large pail.
“I don’t know exactly how I’ll get this boxed for shipping,” hinted Wallingford, as Bob carried the pail laboriously31 back to the buggy.
“Right down at the mill,” invited Mr. Bubble with [Pg 257]great cordiality. “I’ll have my people look after it for you.”
“That’s very kind of you,” replied Wallingford. “I’ll give you the address,” and upon the back of one of his own cards he wrote: Sig. Vittoreo Matteo, 710 Marabon Building, Boston, Mass., U. S. A., care Horace G. Daw.
That night he wrote a careful letter of explanation to Horace G. Daw.
Two weeks to wait. Oh, well, Wallingford could amuse himself by working up a local reputation. It was while he was considering this, upon the following day, that a farmer with three teeth drove up in a dilapidated spring-wagon drawn32 by a pair of beautiful bay horses, and stopped in front of Jim Ranger’s livery and sales stable to talk hay. Wallingford, sitting in front of the hotel in lazy meditation33, walked over and examined the team with a critical eye. They were an exquisite34 match, perfect in every limb, with manes and tails and coats of that peculiar35 silken sheen belonging to perfect health and perfect care.
“Very nice team you have,” observed Wallingford.
“Finest match team anywhere,” agreed Abner [Pg 258]Follis, plucking at his gray goatee and mouthing a straw, “an’ I make a business o’ raisin’ thoroughbreds. Cousins, they are, an’ without a blemish36 on ’em. An’ trot37—you’d ought to see that team trot.”
“What’ll you take for them?” asked Wallingford.
The response of Abner Follis was quick and to the point. He kept a careful appraisement38 upon all his live stock.
“Seven hundred and fifty,” said he, naming a price that allowed ample leeway for dickering.
It was almost a disappointment to him that Wallingford produced his wallet, counted over the exact amount that had been asked, and said briefly39:
“Unhitch them.”
“Well!” said Abner, slowly taking the money and throwing away his straw in petulance40. It was dull and uninteresting to have a bargain concluded so quickly.
Wallingford, however, knew what he was about. Within an hour everybody in town knew of his purchase. Speculation41 that had been mildly active concerning him now became feverish. He was a rich nabob with money to throw away; had so much money that he would not even dicker in a horse deal—and [Pg 259]this was the height of human recklessness in Blakeville. Wallingford, purchasing Jim Ranger’s new buggy and his best set of harness, drove to the Bubbles’, the eyed of all observers, but before he had opened the gate Mrs. Bubble was on the porch.
“Jonas ain’t at home,” she shrilled42 down at him.
“Yes, I know,” replied Wallingford; “but I came to see Miss Fannie.”
“She’s busy,” said Mrs. Bubble with forbidding loftiness. “She’s in the kitchen getting dinner.”
Wallingford, however, strode quite confidently up the walk, and by the time he reached the porch Miss Fannie was in the door, removing her apron43.
“What a pretty turnout!” she exclaimed.
“It’s a beauty,” agreed Wallingford. “I just bought it from Abner Follis.”
She smiled.
“I bet he beat you in the bargain.”
“So long as I’m satisfied,” retorted Wallingford, smiling back at her, “I don’t see why we shouldn’t all be happy. Come on and take the first ride in it.”
She glanced at her stepmother dubiously44.
“I’m very busy,” she replied; “and I’d have to change my dress.”
“You look good enough just as you are,” he insisted. [Pg 260]“Come right on. Mrs. Bubble can finish the dinner. I’ll bet she’s a better cook, anyhow,” and he laughed cordially.
The remark was intended as a compliment, but Mrs. Bubble took distinct umbrage45. This was, without doubt, a premeditated slur46. Of course he knew that she had once been Mr. Bubble’s cook!
“Fannie can’t go,” she snapped.
Wallingford walked straight up to Mrs. Bubble, beaming down upon her from his overawing height; and for just one affrighted moment Fannie feared that he intended to uptilt her stepmother’s chin, or make some equally familiar demonstration47. Instead, he only laughed down into that lady’s belligerent48 eyes.
“Yes, she can,” he insisted with large persuasiveness49. “You were young once yourself, Mrs. Bubble, and not so very long ago.”
It was not what he said, but his jovial50 air of secret understanding, that made Mrs. Bubble flush and laugh nervously51 and soften52.
“Oh, I reckon I can get along,” she said.
Miss Fannie, with a wondering glance at Wallingford, had already flown up-stairs, and J. Rufus set himself deliberately53 to be agreeable to Mrs. [Pg 261]Bubble. When Fannie came tripping down again in an incredibly short space of time, having shaken herself out of one frock and into another with an expedition which surprised even herself, she found her stepmother actually giggling54! And when the young couple drove away in the bright, shining new rig behind the handsome bays, Mrs. Bubble watched after them with something almost like wistfulness. She had been young herself, once—and not so very long ago!
Opposite the Bubble swamp Wallingford stopped for a moment.
“I hope to be a very near neighbor of yours,” said he, waving his hand out toward the wonderful deposit of genuine Etruscan black mud. “Did your father tell you about the pottery studios which may be built here?”
“Not a thing,” she confessed with a slightly jealous laugh. “Papa never tells us anything at home. We’ll hear it on the street, no doubt, as we usually do.”
“Your father is a most estimable man, but I fear he makes a grave mistake in not telling you about things,” declared Wallingford. “I believe in the value of a woman’s intuition, and if I were as [Pg 262]closely related to you as your father I am sure I should confide all my prospects55 to you.”
Miss Fannie gave a little inward gasp13. That serious tide in the talk, fraught56 with great possibilities, for which every girl longs and which every girl dreads57, was already setting ashore58.
“You might get fooled,” she said. “Father don’t think any woman has very much gumption59, and least of all me, since—since he married again.”
“I understand,” said Wallingford gently, and drove on. “Just to show you how much differently I look at things from your father, I’m going to tell you all about the black pottery project and see what you think of it.”
Thereupon he explained to her in minute detail, a wealth of which came to him on the spur of the moment, the exact workings of the Etruscan pottery art. He painted for her, in the gray of stone and the yellow of face brick and the red of tiling, the beautiful studio buildings that were to be erected60 yonder facing the swamp; he showed her through cozy61, cheerfully lighted apartments in those studios, where the best trained artists of Europe, under the direction of the wizard, Vittoreo Matteo, should execute ravishments of Etruscan black pottery; he [Pg 263]showed her, as the bays pranced62 on, connoisseurs63 and collectors coming from all over the country to visit the Blakeville studios, and carrying away priceless gems64 of the ceramic65 art at incalculable prices!
The girl drank in all these details with thirsty avidity.
“It’s splendid! Perfectly66 grand!” she assured him with vast enthusiasm, and in her memory was stored every precious word that this genius had said; and they were stored in logical order, ready to reproduce on the slightest provocation67, which was precisely68 the result which Wallingford had intended to produce.
It was nearing noon now, and making a détour by the railway road they drove up in front of the mill with the spanking69 bays just as Jonas Bubble was coming out of his office to go to dinner. Hilariously70 they invited him into the carriage, and in state drove him home.
Wallingford very wisely kept away from the Bubble home that afternoon and that evening, and by the next morning every woman in town had told all her men-folk about the vast Etruscan black pottery project!
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1
sliver
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| n.裂片，细片，梳毛；v.纵切，切成长片，剖开 | |
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2
prodded
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| v.刺，戳( prod的过去式和过去分词 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳 | |
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3
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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4
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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5
poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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6
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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7
confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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8
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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9
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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10
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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11
astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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12
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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13
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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14
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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15
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16
pottery
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| n.陶器，陶器场 | |
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17
retail
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| v./n.零售；adv.以零售价格 | |
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18
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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19
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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20
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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21
pompous
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
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22
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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23
ranger
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| n.国家公园管理员，护林员；骑兵巡逻队员 | |
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24
maple
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| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
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25
protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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26
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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27
shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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28
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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29
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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30
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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31
laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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32
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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33
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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34
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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35
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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36
blemish
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| v.损害；玷污；瑕疵，缺点 | |
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37
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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38
appraisement
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| n.评价，估价；估值 | |
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39
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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40
petulance
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| n.发脾气，生气，易怒，暴躁，性急 | |
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41
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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42
shrilled
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| （声音）尖锐的，刺耳的，高频率的( shrill的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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44
dubiously
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| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
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45
umbrage
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| n.不快；树荫 | |
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46
slur
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| v.含糊地说；诋毁；连唱；n.诋毁；含糊的发音 | |
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47
demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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48
belligerent
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| adj.好战的，挑起战争的；n.交战国，交战者 | |
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49
persuasiveness
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| 说服力 | |
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50
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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51
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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52
soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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53
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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54
giggling
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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55
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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56
fraught
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| adj.充满…的，伴有(危险等)的；忧虑的 | |
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57
dreads
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| n.恐惧，畏惧( dread的名词复数 )；令人恐惧的事物v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的第三人称单数 ) | |
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58
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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59
gumption
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| n.才干 | |
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60
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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61
cozy
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| adj.亲如手足的，密切的，暖和舒服的 | |
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62
pranced
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| v.（马）腾跃( prance的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
connoisseurs
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| n.鉴赏家，鉴定家，行家( connoisseur的名词复数 ) | |
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64
gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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65
ceramic
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| n.制陶业，陶器，陶瓷工艺 | |
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66
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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67
provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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68
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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69
spanking
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| adj.强烈的，疾行的；n.打屁股 | |
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70
hilariously
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