he mustn't be poor, because being poor is what leads folks to commit crimes, don't you see?"
"Playing the piano brings him money, doesn't it?"
"Not much, I guess. What we ought to do is to see if we can't find someone who will give him some civil engineering to do. I—I'll bet he's a good civil engineer, too!"
"So do I," asserted Fudge. "I'll bet he can engineer all around those fellows who did that work for Mr. Brent out there."
"That's what a civil engineer does, isn't it?" asked Perry. "I mean, lays out streets and bridges and—and things."
Fudge nodded. "And surveys things, too."
"Well, now, say, I was wondering whether we couldn't ask Morris to ask his father to give him a job."
"Give Morris a job?"
"No, Mr. Addicks. He's got a lot more land out there that hasn't been surveyed, I'll bet. And if Morris asked him to give some of the work to Mr. Addicks—of course, not all of it, but some of it—I guess he would. He's mighty fond of Morris."
Fudge considered silently. The idea struck him as being perfectly feasible, even brilliant, but he
wished he had thought of it himself. After a mo-
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