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VIRGIN WATER
79
you'd be interested in a couple of ex' president's private coaches? The interiors are good as new but the wheels and trucks are condemned and we have to remove them."
"How much do private cars cost?" ventured Hunser.
"Well, a new car, such as either one of these was fifteen or twenty years ago, would cost a mere fifty thousand. However, inasmuch as you are one of our lessees, clients, or customers, so to speak, I'd let you have it a bit cheaper!"
Hunser was still studying the map; but from force of habit his mind unconsciously had to submit a bid.
"I'll give yuh a hundred dollars!"
"You're nuttier than you look!" exploded the Judge. "What the 'ell do you want with a couple of private cars?"
"I made you an offer — take it or leave it! Make up your mind!"
"Sold!" chuckled Blair. "We were going to burn the cars for scrap iron anyhow. At fifty dollars each the company saves labor and worry."
"Fifty apiece? OK — I meant a hundred apiece! But I'll accept your figure!"
"Smart, eh youngster? Now that you own a ten-year lease on a puddle of water and two private cars — let me slip you some bad news. You have just thirty days to get those cars off the siding or we charge you five dollars a days each demurrage thereafter. Also ... I want your check right now for two hundred dollars."
"Gee," mused Hunser thoughtfully, "I thought Blair was an Irish name! Shucks, I'll bet some Caledonian blood crept in somewhere!
You're tighter than a new pair of shoes."
TWO weeks later, footsore and weary, the good natured and perspiring Hunser limped back to Mokane after a trip to the lake. Joy bubbled in his heart. Not a footprint nor a wheel track had he found near the little sheet of water nestled away in the hills. No empty tin cans, milk bottles nor newspapers! The water was clear, cold and sparkling. Hundreds of early ducks were already zooming down out of autumn skies as if into a sanctuary. Virgin timber lined the shore. Squirrels had chirped defiance at his approach. Back up the valley he had found an abandoned farm where broad acres, long since overgrown with brush and scrub oak, would provide excellent cover for whirring coveys of quail. Turkey? Maybe not.
At the old farm, he had stumbled upon an ancient road that led back along the ridge into a farm-to-market road, and then to paved State Highway Forty! A few loads of gravel, some culvert pipe ... a little labor and then —
Between Mokane and Tibbets, Hunser spotted a road contractor in his natural habitat, mud. Two huge 12 -ton tractors were grunting and raging in tandem as load after load was moved away. Soon the ground would freeze and work would be halted.
Hunser and the contractor went into a huddle. A Pullman coach, stripped of its trucks, brakes, vestibule and steps was unwieldy, but — two tractors could pull the Statue of