"Here, gentlemen! Here's Frescobaldi's health." They all drank; and Frescobaldi, smiling brilliantly and rubbing his hands as he bowed right and left, permitted himself to say to Dryfoos: "You are please; no?
You like ?" "First-rate, first-rate!" said the old man; but when the Italian had bowed himself out and his guests had sunk into their seats again, he said dryly to Fulkerson, "I reckon they didn't have to torpedo that well, or the derrick wouldn't look quite so nice and clean." "Yes," Fulkerson answered, "and that ain't quite the style--that little wiggly-waggly blue flame--that the gas acts when you touch off a good vein of it.

This might do for weak gas"; and he went on to explain: "They call it weak gas when they tap it two or three hundred feet down; and anybody can sink a well in his back yard and get enough gas to light and heat his house.

I remember one fellow that had it blazing up from a pipe through a flower-bed, just like a jet of water from a fountain.

My, my, my! You fel--you gentlemen--ought to go out and see that country, all of you.

Wish we could torpedo this well, Mr.Dryfoos, and let 'em see how it works! Mind that one you torpedoed for me?
You know, when they sink a well," he went on to the company, "they can't always most generally sometimes tell whether they're goin' to get gas or oil or salt water.