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He picked up his hat and bounded outside. He found Croaker seated on the chicken yard fence, gravely surveying his ancient and mortal enemy, the old game cock, and whispering guttural insults that fairly made the rooster bristle with anger. The occupants of the skiff cast a contemptuous look at his old muzzle-loader, as they passed, and one of them laughed and said something in an aside to his companion. "As I say, I came here to prospect. I found plenty of surface evidence of oil and gas but without capital I was helpless. I learned that a thousand-acre tract of woods, rich in oil indications, was owned by Pennsylvania Scroggie. I knew that he was a hog and that if I showed my hand too clearly he would kick me under and go it alone. Through a friend who owned a lake schooner I made Scroggie a proposition. I guaranteed to show him a virgin oil territory and operate his rigs for a certain percentage of the output. This he agreed to. Then he came and when he found that the vein lay on his own land he was furious and tried to break the contract..

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Scroggie nodded. "Drowned through an air-hole in the lake. Say, Billy, do you skate?" With kindly pressure he obliged the old seaman to resume his seat, and then turned with something of fierceness upon old Greyquill. "Billy!" she whispered, almost forgetting caution in her anxiety. "What is it?" Billy shook his fist at the crow. "You old beggar," he said fondly, "if that rooster was wise he'd go out with the rest of the chickens an' scratch his breakfast, 'stead o' quarrelin' with you. He don't know that you're doin' your best to starve him to death.".