ilities of
that old swamp?"

"To be sure it is a swamp," admitted Mr. Applerod with some heat. "Do
you suppose you could buy one hundred and twenty acres of directly
accessible land, almost at the very edge of the crowded city limits,
at two hundred dollars an acre if it wasn't swamp land?" he demanded.
"Why, Mr. Burnit, it is the opportunity of a lifetime!"

"How much capital would be needed?" asked Bobby, gravely assuming the
callous, inquisitorial manner of the ideal business man.

"Well, I've managed to buy up twenty acres out of my savings, and
there are still one hundred acres to be purchased, which will take
twenty thousand dollars. But this is the small part of it. Drainage,
filling and grading is to be done, streets and sidewalks ought to be
put down, a gift club-house, which would serve at first as an office,
would be a good thing to build, and the thing would have to be most
thoroughly advertised. I've figured on it for years, and it would
require, all told, about a two-hundred-thousand investment."

"And what would be the return?" asked Bobby without blinking at these
big figures, and proud of his attitude, which, while conservative, was
still one of openness to conviction.

"Figure it out for yourself," Mr. Applerod invited him with much
enthusiasm. "We get ten building lots to the acre, turning one hundred
and twenty acres into one thousand two hundred lots. Improved sites at
any point surrounding this tract can not be bought for less than
twenty-five dollars per front foot. Corner lots and those in the best
locations would bring much more, but taking the average price at only
six hundred dollars per lot, we would have, as a total return for the
investment, seven hundred and twenty thousand dollars!"

"In how long?" Bobby inquired, not allowing himself to become in the
slightest degree excited.

"One year," announced the optimistic Mr. Applerod with conviction.

Mr. Johnson, his lips glued tightly together in one firm, thin,
straight line across his face, was glaring steadfastly at the corner
of the ceiling, permitting no expression whatever to flicker in his
eyes; noting which, Bobby turned to him with a point-blank question:

"What do you think of this opportunity, Mr. Johnson?" he asked.

Mr. Johnson glared quickly at Mr. Applerod.

"Tell him," defied that gentleman.

"I think nothing whatever of it!" snapped Mr. Johnson.

"What is your chief ground of objection?" Bobby wanted to know.