"Looks purty much like a distillery," commented Buck, who had just
made his last trip with the iron shavings, which were now piled
close by the casks.
"And is," laughed Ned, "in a way."
But he volunteered no more. In fact the whole matter was a mystery
to every one in the town, except Mayor Curt Bradley and Marshal Jack
Jellup.
In the morning the first work accomplished was the removal, one at a
time, of ten casks of sulphuric acid, each weighing four hundred
pounds. It was a delicate job and not unattended with danger in
case of a cask breaking. The boys began to realize the need of help
of a higher grade than that of the "greasers" who had been thus far
their only assistants except Buck.
Their usual good luck seemed to be with them, however, for just in
the middle of the work of sliding a heavy carboy of acid from the
wagon a stranger stepped from the group of onlookers, and without
words gave a hand to the job.
Alan was about to thank him hurriedly, when the stranger said:
"Wot's the game, son? Wot's doin'?"
Alan was at first inclined to resent this "tough" familiarity.
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