an electric light service going?"

"It ought not to take more than three or four days, sir, if we can pick up
a suitable dynamo in Mobile. But there's another point to be considered.
We very likely would have to obtain the permission of the Washington
authorities before we could run a line of lights out into the Gulf of
Mexico. You see, sir, so many uncharted lights might confuse the
navigators of passing ships."

"Write Washington, then, and find out where you stand in the matter,"
directed the treasurer.

"Yes, sir; I'll do that," Reade agreed.

"But don't order any electrical supplies until you've got an estimate of
the cost and have it approved by me," hinted President Bascomb. This
cautious direction made Mr. Prenter shrug his shoulders.

Dinner finished, all hands went out to sit on the porch. Mr. Bascomb soon
began to ask questions about the camp, the housing of the men, and about
other details of the camp.

"Although it is dark it's still early. Wouldn't you like to go over
through the camp with us?" proposed Tom.

Mr. Bascomb agreeing, the whole party set out, only Nicolas remaining
behind to keep an eye over the house.

Though he did not then suspect it Tom was on the threshold of more trouble
in the camp.

CHAPTER IX

INVITED TO LEAVE CAMP

Lanterns hung here and there on poles lighted the camp. Men who toil hard
all day do not usually want a long evening. Many of the men were already
inside their tents or shacks, preparing for bed.

At least two hundred, however, were still stirring in the streets of the
camp. Tom led his friends near one of the groups. A warning hiss was
heard, and then a man in a remote group, urged by his comrades, rose and
staggered toward a shack. Tom was at the man's side in an instant. He
proved to be an Italian.

"My man, you appear to be intoxicated," Tom remarked, quietly, as he
gripped the Italian by the arm.

"No spikka da English," hiccoughed the laborer. As he spoke he tried to
free himself from the engineer's grasp. He staggered, and would have
fallen, had not Tom prevented the fall.

"Where's this man's gang-master?" Tom demanded, looking about him sharply,
while he still held the drunken man.

None of the Italians addressed appeared to know. For the most part they
took refuge in the fact or the pretense that they didn't understand
English.

"Get an Italian gang-master, Harry," Tom murmured softly.

Hazelton bolted away, but was