"
"Rawdon a geologist!" he cried again, with a coarse laugh. "Of course he
is; allers arter trap rock, galeny, quartz and beryl. O yes, he's a
geologist! Go right along that track there. Good day." Then he rapidly
retraced his steps towards the barn, as if fearful lest some new visitor
should interrupt him before his task was completed.
"It may be smuggling," said the lawyer, "but it's liquid of some kind,
for that dilapidated granger has given his friend away. What do
hayseeds know about galena, quartz and beryl? These are Grinstun's
little mineralogical jokes for gallon, quart and barrel, and trap rock
is another little mystery of his. What do you think of the farmer that
doesn't follow the plough, Wilks?"
"I think he drinks," sententiously responded the schoolmaster.
"Then he and Ben Toner are in the same box, and both are friends or
customers of the workin' geologist. I believe it's whiskey goes between
the grindstones, and that it's smuggled in from the States, somewhere up
on the Georgian Bay between Collingwood and Owen Sound. The plot is
thickening."
When the pedestrians emerged from the path on a very pretty country road
the first objects that met their view were three stout waggons, drawn by
strong horses and driven by bleary eyed men, noisy and profane of
speech.
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