The town was square, and although it looked much smaller than real-estate agents' maps indicated, it was ornamented by four wooden churches, a Y.M.C.A.

like a temple, and an ambitious public hall.
The Tecumseh Hotel occupied a corner lot at the end of the street and was not remarkably commodious or clean, but its charges were less than the Occidental's by the station, and Lister and Kemp were not fastidious.

Some time had gone since they pulled the gravel cars out of the swamp and they had not been sent to the lake section.

In consequence, they had applied to the irrigation company for a post, and having been called to meet the engineers and directors, imagined they were on the short list.
Lister lounged against the rails on the Tecumseh veranda.

The boards were cracked and dirty; burned matches and cigar ends were scattered about, and a skeleton, gauze covered door that shut with a powerful spring kept some of the flies and mosquitoes out of the hotel.
"We'll know to-morrow," he remarked presently.
Kemp nodded.