Even now he did not know, and when he thought of it the thing irritated him like a puzzle before it is solved.
So greatly did the matter trouble him that immediately upon reaching the ranch he left Flora and the Pilgrim and hunted up Dill.

He found him hunched like a half-open jackknife in a cane rocker, with his legs crossed and one long, lean foot dangling loosely before him; he was reading "The Essays of Elia," and the melancholy of his face gave Billy the erroneous impression that the book was extremely sad, and caused him to dislike it without ever looking inside the dingy blue covers.
"Say, Dilly, old Brown's putting in a ditch big enough to carry the whole Missouri River.

Did yuh know it ?" Dill carefully creased down the corner of the page where he was reading, untangled his legs and pulled himself up a bit in the chair.
"Why, no, I don't think I have heard of it," he admitted.

"If I have it must have slipped my mind--which isn't likely." Dill was rather proud of his capacity for keeping a mental grasp on things.
"Well, he's got a bunch uh men camped up the creek and the Pilgrim to close-herd 'em--and I'm busy wondering what he's going to do with that ditch.

Brown don't do things just to amuse himself; yuh can gamble he aims to make that ditch pack dollars into his jeans--and if yuh can tell me _how_, I'll be a whole lot obliged." Dill shook his head, and Billy went on.