The Thing from the LakeIngram, Eleanor M. (Eleanor Marie)
Science
The Thing from the Lake
Ingram, Eleanor M. (Eleanor Marie)
Haunted houses -- Connecticut -- Fiction
"And have found it, of course," I said bitingly. "Or else you would be
drawing your salary as manager and saying nothing to me of all this!
Well, where does poor Phil go, and when?"
He turned his dark-curled head and regarded me with calm surprise.
"I didn't exactly know that my wife was going anywhere, Mr. Locke."
"What? You do not mean to leave the farm?"
"Not unless you're tired of our bargain. I've been calculating how to
make it pay. That won't be by planting corn and potatoes and taking a
wagon-load into town! If you think I'm wrong, call in any practical man
who knows this sort of business. We've got to think closer to win here.
That's why I'd like to set the lake to work instead of just prettying it
up."
"The lake, Vere? There isn't enough water-power over the dam to do any
more than run a toy, is there?"
He motioned me nearer to where he stood gazing down.
"Notice what kind of water this is, Mr. Locke? Brown like forest water,
sort of green-lighted because the bottom is like turf; neither mud nor
sand, but a kind of under-water moss? You see? It's pure and clean, with
a little fishy smell about it. Matter of fact, it is forest water! Comes
from way off yonder, the stream does, before it spreads out into our
lake, here. I borrowed a boat and followed back two miles before it got
too shallow for me. Boys have caught trout here three times since I've
been watching."
"Well?"
"My father was fish-warden in our district. I learned the business. If
you're willing, I can start some trout-raising that ought to pay well.
You know, the State is glad to help game preserving, free."
He proceeded to give me a brief lecture on the subject, in his quiet,
unpretentious manner; producing notes and diagrams from his pockets. He
had written to various authorities and exhibited their replies. He knew
exactly what the State would do, what he himself must do, and what
investment of money would be required. I listened to him in admiration
and astonishment.
From fish raising, he went on to discuss each acre of the farm; its best
use in view of its situation, condition, and our needs. We could afford
so much labor, it appeared, and no more. We must have certain apparatus;
methodically listed with prices. If we used a certain sheltered south
field for a peach orchard, the trees planted should be such an age and
have giant-powder blast deep beds for them in order that they might soon
bear fruit.
When at last he ended his deceptive speech that sounded so lazy while
implying so much energy, and turned his black eyes from the papers on
his knee to my face, I had been routed long since.
"Vere," I said abruptly, "did you know that I thought you were going to
desert the farm, when you began to speak?"
He nodded.
"Yes, I guess so. You don't exactly like me; haven't had any occasion
to! You don't judge me a fit match for your cousin. Well, neither would
anyone else, yet!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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