y reputation on
this well and I'm goin' to keep on diggin'."

At seventy-two feet Wallie was desperate. The hole was still as dry as
punk, and boarding the Reeds was nothing less than ruinous; besides, he
was nauseated with cooking for three persons whom he detested. They
could not be insulted, he discovered, and were determined to make him
abide by his contract to board them.

A solution of his problem came in the night with such force and
suddenness that he rolled to and fro in his bunk, hugging himself in
ecstasy. He longed for morning to put his idea into execution and when
it came, for the first time since their arrival, he was delighted to see
the Reeds seating themselves at the table.

There were potatoes, bacon, and pancakes, with coffee, for breakfast.

John dubiously eyed the transparent fluid in his cup which might as
easily have been tea, and commented:

"You musta left out somethin'."

Will made a wry face after filling it with half a pancake:

"Gosh! But you throwed in the sody. They ain't fit fer a dog to eat. I
can't go 'em."

With the intention of taking the taste of soda out of his mouth he
filled it with potato, and immediately afterward he and John jammed in
the doorway as they tried to get through it simultaneously.

Wiping their streaming eyes and gulping water, they said accusingly:

"There's a can of cayenne if there's a pinch in them pertaters!"

"And the bacon's burned to a cracklin'," observed Rufus.

"Perhaps you're getting tired of my cooking?" Wallie suggested,
artlessly.

"I'm tired now if this is a spec'min of what you aim to feed us," John
declared, suspiciously. "I bleeve you done it on purpose."

Wallie did not deny it.

"I'm holler to the toes and I can't work on an empty stummick," said
Will, disgustedly.

Only Rufus went on eating as if it took more than a can of soda and a
box of pepper to spoil his food for him and he explained as they
wondered at it:

"I ain't no taste sence I had scarlet fever so it don't bother me."

"Ain't you goin' to git us somethin'?" John demanded, finally, seeing
Wallie made no move to cook fresh food for them.

"No," Wallie answered, bluntly. "There's nothing in the contract which
specifies the manner in which I shall prepare your food for you or the
amount of it. Dinner will be worse than breakfast if you want the truth
from me."

"I'm quittin'!" the two declared together.

"Now, look here, boys!" the old man expostulated. "We