The Houma courier. (Houma, La.) 1878-1939, 1903-04-11
Down The
Driu-HoIe

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Jack PAISLEY did not know how
NU long he had been lying there on
the ground, with his face hidden ia
his arms, and he could not have told
OF half the thoughts-reioicing des-
perate, sorrowful-that had been
passing through his brain. The won
der of it was that when at last he
sat up and drew his sleeve across
his eyes and looked about him he
realized that he had somehow beer
conscious all tie time that boring
had ceased at the new Hub well.
Yet neither the Hub nor any Other
gas wen on the ridge had been in
his mind when he came out of the
house. OF that he was sure. Great
news, part glad, part terrible, had
crowded out everything else. First,
the doctor had said that Jacks IA
Their had safely passed the crisis of
a long and dangerous illness. Jack
jumped for joy at that.
Then Jacks mother had reported
the doctors next words, that Mr..
Paisley must have nourishing food
deHcacies, chickenl She had cried
as she said it, and Jacks face had
paled, remembering his three pets.
Tiny and Hoarsy and Dick. But Jack
knew the money was about rome, and
there was enough of the hero in the
boy to make him stifen his chin and
answer: ''Then father must have il
of my chickens, but 1 don't know
which,
At that his courage ~faltered, and
he rushed out of the house. He could
not choose. He would not wait to
learn which chicken his mother Sc
ieoted for the slaughter.
Of course his first wretchedness
iessened a little as the moments went
by The blessed hopefulness Of
youth came to his relief. A chicken
would not have to be killed for two
or three hours, anyway-and some-
thing might turn up!
Then it was he became distinctly
aware that they had stopped drill
ing at the Hub wen. A Kind Of de-
fensive instinct-urging him to guard
against unhappy thoughts-turned
his feet that way.
He found Eric Sampson the driller,
and Jim Dodd, the tool dresser, sit.
ting and smoking IN philosophic
ease; but Mr.. johnson, the CON
tractor, was stamping back and
forth, pausing now and then to
glance gloomily at the two-and-a-
quarter-inch drill-line that hung over
the mouth of the well. The frayod
end told the whole story-the rope
had parted.
How deep are your" Mr.. johnson
demanded.
"Jest about $50 feet" was the
driller's placid answer. Jack noticed
that his calmness seemed to irritate
the contractor.
'VelI, can't you think of any,
Ghing2" Mr.. Johnson cried. "Have
we got to lose all our work, and the
tools into the bargain? 2"
Jack had drawn nearer. He waited
with interest for the answer.
'Twon't be so easy to get 'em.
You know we're using our r15-incb
bit, and that cuts a 16-inch hole,
about. Well, the tools are not more
than four inches at the top, and since
the bit isn't fast they must be lean
ing against the wall, where there's
about m chance in ten thousand Of
getting a ~slip-socket over them.
There's a stub of 0 p sticking up,
too, that would interfere with the
dshing-tooI."
etNTnwa Won NJ sIo, - III IL I
help us, Eric? It seems a shame to
abandon the well. Couldn't we dig
the tools ont? Two hundred feet
isn't much"
Yes, tits, when most Of it's blue
limestone. I've been thinking of a
way. Some would call it risky, but
can't see how"
"Out with It'll"
"Well, I'd lower a boy down there
and have him take a hitch around the
.rope-socket."
Jack positively shivered-his quick
Imagination had so clearly grasped
the horror Of a descent into thai
hole. Mr.. johnson looked doubtful.
that's dangerous. Suppose a bov
lost his head-did something so YOU
couldn't get him out?"
"What could he do? Les me tie
che rope round him and I'll guaran-
tee to pull him out"
what about gas-bad air-water?n
>'BO know there's no water a.
amount TO anything, and we haven't
gone through coal or anything to
make bad air. Maybe q little gas
near the bottom, but he won't
need 70 60 that far. The tools are GO