fraction; because, of course, only one who is posted in that direction
could ever hope to make a success of a fur farm."

Obed grinned and nodded his head.

"Oh! I reckon I'm up a little bit in all sech things," he said airily
enough. "And after all, it ain't so _very_ hard to raise foxes. I was
afraid fust off it might be what they told me, that blacks ain't to be
relied on to breed true to strain, but shucks! I've got some cubs that
are dandies. Wait till you see 'em, boys."

That sounded as though, sooner or later, Obed meant to have them visit
his fur farm, and see with their own eyes what he had been doing.
Bandy-legs, skeptical once more, told himself he only hoped the whole
thing might not turn out to be a myth, and that the said Obed himself
prove to be a deception and a fraud.

"I understand that the pelts of black foxes are worth a whole lot of
money," remarked Steve; "fact is, we know that to be so, because we once
had such a skin given to us by a man who made a business of trapping."

"It all depends on the quality of the pelt," explained Obed. "Some ain't
worth as much as three hundred dollars, because they've got defects, yuh
see. Then again a real fine skin has fetched as much as thirty-six
hundred dollars in London markets."

Evidently, Obed was well posted, at any rate, whether he really had
such a fur farm of his own or not, Bandy-legs concluded. And then he
again allowed himself to give imagination free rein, and for a time
even looked on Obed as the essence of truth, doubly distilled.