Uncle Dick had been made guardian of
Bob, at his own and the aunts' request, so Bob was now a ward with Betty.
The possession of money, though it meant the difference between
poverty and debt and great comfort, had, to date, made very little
change in the mode of living of Miss Faith and Miss Charity Saunders,
or of their nephew.
This morning he had been delayed by some extra work on the farm, for the
oil company did not take possession till the first of the month, now a
week away, and Betty had ridden to the oil fields ahead of him. She
divided her time between the Saunders' place and the Watterby farm, where
she and Bob had stayed when they first came to Flame City.
"Whew!" gasped Bob as they finally emerged from the black curtain of oil.
"Of all the messy stuff! Betty, you look as though an oil lamp had
exploded in your face."
"Now I'll have to wash my hair again," mourned Betty. "You'd better come
to Grandma Watterby's and get tidied up, Bob. It's nearer than your
aunts', taking this road; and they always have the stove tank full of
hot water."
Bob took this advice, and the sympathetic Watterby family came to the
oil-spotted pair's assistance with copious supplies of hot water, soap
and towels and liberal handfuls of borax, for the water was very hard.
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