Clearing his throat, the Gov'nor fixed his eyes upon "Hod" Deefendorf, owner of the Double Cross Livery Stable, and demanded: "Among all the voices of Nature is there a more pleasing or varied sound than that of falling water?" He paused as though he expected an answer, so "Hod" squirmed and ventured weakly that he "guessed there wasn't." The Gov'nor continued: "The gentle murmur of the brook, the noisy rumble of rapids, the thundering roar of mighty cataracts--can you beat it?" In a country where the school children giggled at sight of an umbrella, the question seemed irrelevant, so this time no one replied. "Consider the rivulet as it glints and glistens in ceaseless change, the fairy mists of shimmering cascades, the majestic sweep of waterfalls--has Nature any force more potent for the use of man than falling water? No! None whatever! And I propose that we yoke these racing tumbling forces back there in yon mountains and make them work for us!" The members exchanged glances--the Gov'nor was living up to their expectations of him. "That accomplished, I propose," the Governor declared dramatically, "to take nitrogen from the air and sell it to the government!" He looked triumphantly into the intent upturned faces into which had crept a look of blankness. There were those who thought vaguely that nitrogen was the scientific name for mosquito, while others confused it with nitre, an excellent emergency remedy for horses. "They've done it in Germany," he continued, "and used it in the manufacture of high explosives. Is there any gentleman present who will tell me that what's been done in Germany, can't be done in Wyoming?" The applause was tumultuous when he had further elucidated and finished. To get something out of nothing made a strong appeal to Prouty. It was criminal for Sudds to waste his abilities in a small community. They wondered why he did it. Hiram Butefish, who succeeded the orator, felt a quite natural diffidence in giving to the Club his modest suggestion, but as he talked he warmed to his subject. "I am convinced," declared Mr. Butefish, "that the future of Prouty lies in fossils." "Human?" a voice inquired ironically. "Clams," replied Mr. Butefish with dignity. "Also fish and periwinkles. Locked in Nature's boozem over there in the Bad Lands there's a world of them. I kicked 'em up last year when I was huntin' horses, and realized their value. They'd go off like hot cakes to high schools and collectors. We could get a professor in here cheap--a lunger, maybe--to classify 'em, and then we'd send out our own salesman. We can advertise and create a market. "Gentlemen," solemnly, "we have not one iota of reason to be discouraged! With thousands of acres available for peppermint; with more air to the square inch than any place else in the world, with an inexhaustible bed of fossils under our very noses, all we need to fulfill the dreams of our city's founder is unity of effort and capital. In other words--MONEY!"