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He looked at her much mystified at this calling of his name, but he mumbled his thanks for the chair which she put forward for him, and, sitting with his hat upon his knees, contemplated her furtively. "I guess you don't remember me," she said in frank enjoyment of his mystification, "but I remember you perfectly. I used to see you quite often out at Westmarsh when Mr.
"The first thing you do," he directed, still with a memory of that aggravating laugh, "I want you to build a cement wall straight across the north end of my Westmarsh property." Mr. Platt smiled and shook his head. "Evidently you can not buy that north eight acres, and don't intend to drain it," he commented, stroking sagely the sparse beginning of those slow professional whiskers.
Chalmers," directed Bobby when he had his new lawyer on the wire, "kindly get into communication with Miles, Eddy and Company and look up the title on ninety-two acres of Westmarsh property which they have for sale. If the title is clear the price is to be three hundred dollars per acre, for which amount you will have a check, payable to your order, within half an hour."
"Lose it," confessed stooped and bloodless Johnson. "I never made a dollar out of a dollar in my life." "What would you do with it, Applerod?" Mr. Applerod, scarcely able to contain himself, had been eagerly awaiting that question. "Purchase, improve and market the Westmarsh Addition," he said promptly, expanding fully two inches across his already rotund chest.
About the first of February the filling and grading were finished and the construction of the streets began, and the middle of March saw the final disappearance of everything, except that dark, eight-acre spot of Silas Trimmer's, which might remind one of the tract once known as the Westmarsh.
Applerod announced, triumphant that every necessity had been anticipated. "Jimmy Platt, son of an old neighbor of mine. Fine, smart boy, and knows all about the Westmarsh proposition. Bless you, I figured on this with him every vacation during his schooling!" An hour later, Bobby, Mr.
"It is known as Westmarsh," he observed. "I suppose you know where it is." Bobby, who had already started the machine and had placed his hand on the steering wheel, gave a jerk so violent that he almost sent the machine diagonally across the street, and Ferris laughed aloud. His little joke was no longer a secret. "Westmarsh!" Bobby repeated. "Why, I own that undrainable swamp."
Between marsh and river at the south was an immense hill, too steep and rugged for any practical purpose, and this they scaled. The west end of the city lay before them crowding close to the river bank, and already its tentacles had crept around and over the hills and on past Westmarsh tract. Young Platt looked from river to swamp, his eyes glowing over the possibilities that lay before them.
"If you chaps have any property you've wanted to unload for half a lifetime, here's the free-handed plunger to buy it." "How's that?" Bobby wanted to know, guessing instantly at the humiliating truth. "That Westmarsh swamp belonged to Trimmer," laughed Mr.
Applerod and the secretly jubilant Jimmy Platt had sped out Westmarsh way, and were inspecting the hundred and twelve acres of swamp which the new firm of Burnit and Applerod held between them. "It's a fine job," said the young engineer, coveting anew the tremendous task as he bent upon it an admiring professional eye. "This time next year you won't recognize the place. It's a noble thing, Mr.
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