to wait till you sell the corn, either, to get the money."
"How's that?" asked his uncle, interested in spite of himself.
"Well, all I can tell you is to do it and the First National Bank will
make the loan."
"Whoever heard of such a thing as planting corn in an old mill pond,"
scoffed his uncle.
"I did," replied Bob smiling.
"Who told you?" demanded his uncle, looking him over from head to
foot, for Bob with his ideas was getting to be more and more of a
puzzle to him every day as he upset the long-established farm
traditions.
"The president of the bank himself," declared Bob. "At least I
overheard him tell another man that he would."
"You overheard John White, president of the First National Bank,
discussing with someone else that I wanted to borrow a thousand
dollars? I don't believe it. John White wouldn't discuss my affairs
with anyone, especially when boys are standing around listening,"
vehemently declared his uncle.
"I wasn't standing around listening," said Bob blushing. "I was
fishing in the pond yesterday and I sat in the mill to get out of the
rain. I was fishing in the forebay, and they came in the mill to wait
until the rain was over and sat down and talked."
"What! They talked about me?" demanded his uncle.
"They talked about you and grandfather and all the other farmers
around here. Said you farmers never used your heads and let your farms
run down, when all you had to do was to show him you had some 'git up
and git' and you could have all the money you wanted."
"Well, if that's so, then why didn't he give it to me when I asked
him?" demanded his uncle.
"That was because he was disappointed in you. You've not yet shown any
'git up and git,'" replied Bob.
"What do you mean by 'git up and git'?" asked his uncle.
"Why, things like draining the pond and making it raise corn instead
of letting it lie there a waste; building a new road up to the barn
that won't be so steep you can't haul a load up or down; building new
wire fences with concrete posts and a new barn with silos, and--"
"Stop!" shouted his enraged uncle. "You're only talking to hear
yourself, Bob, and I'm not sure but you're talking to make fun of me.
I've a good notion to get a buggy whip and whale you for such
impertinence," he declared, his anger suddenly getting the better of
him. "No 'git up and git'! You know yourself I work from before
daylight until long after dark as it is. What does he expect me to
do?"
"Just work from six o'clock in the morning until six at night, then
you can spend the rest of the time planning how to improve the farm."
"Did he say that, Bob?" demanded his uncle, looking down at the
ground.
"Well, not just that way," replied Bob, "but that's what he meant. He
did say, though, he would make the loan if you could show him you knew
how to improve the farm, and he did say that if HE owned the farm the
first thing he'd do would be to drain the pond and plant it in corn.
It was his friend that suggested the electric lights--and he wasn't
joking, either, Uncle Joe," stoutly declared Bob with much
earnestness.
"Come over to the barn, Bob," said his uncle after considering the
matter a moment, "and tell me just what they said."
They went over and sat on the fence on the south side of the barn from
which point of vantage they could see the pond.
Bob now described in detail all that he had overheard, his uncle
interrupting from time to time to ask questions. When he had finished
they sat in silence for quite a while, then his uncle jumped down from
the fence and turning to Bob said:
"Come on, Bob, let's go' down and see how we can drain the old pond.
I'll make a bargain with you now. Your father told you I'd be willing
to pay you what you could earn. Well, that goes, and if you leave it
to me, I'll settle square with you in the fall, but there's one thing
I want you to do and that's to promise me you won't tell a soul about
this matter, and you and I'll make some of them around here sit up and
take notice before we get through."
"I'll promise," said Bob, "if you'll let me make one exception."
"Why, who's that?" asked his uncle, surprised at his answer.
"Aunt Bettie," said Bob.
His uncle was touched by the thought that Bob was not willing to
exclude his new aunt-to-be from participating in what would probably
be her greatest joy--the success of her husband.
"You don't know her yet, Bob," he said.
"No," replied Bob, "but grandmother described her to me and I know I'm
going to like her."
"I'm glad now I didn't go to church this morning, Bob--you've given me
an idea," remarked his uncle, as they walked along the breast of the
dam to the mill. "Well, here's the gate. I guess this is just as good
a time as any to start and they'll hardly consider it working on
Sunday if I open it now--so here goes," and up came the gate, and the
water began rushing out, sending the idle wheel spinning.
They sat in the mill until noon, listening to the dull rumble of the
wheel and watching the water getting lower and lower, while they
debated the best way of planting the bottom.
"I suppose we'd better go up and get our dinner, Bob," said his uncle,
suddenly coming out of a day dream into which he had fallen almost an
hour before.
"After dinner, Uncle Joe, may I come down and look for some turtles
for Mr. White? He said he'd pay me fifty cents apiece for all I could
catch."
"Did he?" replied his uncle. "I'll help you, Bob. We'll bring down a
barrel or two and a couple of rakes and have a regular turtle hunt,"
he laughed. "They can't get out of the sluiceway gate, there's a
wooden grating there."
As soon as they had finished their dinner, they put on some old
clothes, including rubber boots. Then Bob got the water barrels and
two rakes and put them on a stone drag, while his uncle harnessed up
old Frank. They rode down the hill to the pond and near the spillway
they unhitched the horse and tied him to a tree. The water had fallen
so much already that there were little shallow pools scattered all
over the bottom of the pond, and in some of these they could already
see the heads of surprised turtles sticking out. They took their rakes
and waded out to one of these pools. The bottom of the pond was so
soft they sank nearly up to their boot tops. Bob, who was the first to
arrive at the pool, drew his rake across the shallow water and a big
struggling snapping turtle was overturned and dragged out.
"There's a big one, Uncle Joe," he exclaimed, as he drew the turtle
from the water.
"All right, Bob, I've got him," said his uncle, grasping the turtle by
the tail. "Now look for another while I put this one in the barrel."
"Hurry, Uncle Joe; I've a big one here," he called, and his uncle came
splashing back through the mud as fast as he could to secure the
prize.
Two more were gotten from this pool and then they moved on to another.
The second pool contained four, and as soon as they had them out of
the water they dropped their rakes and grasping a tail in each hand
they waded through the mud to the shore.
"Say, Uncle Joe, there must be a lot of 'em in there. I guess Mr.
White will be surprised when he sees them all."
"Why, Bob, you surely won't take them all in at once," said his uncle,
starting to pry something out of the mud that proved to be a turtle
still larger than any they had yet found.
"Why not?" said Bob. "He didn't say bring in one or two--he just said
he'd pay fifty cents each for all I could catch; so I'm going to take
them all at once, before he changes his mind about them. Maybe after
he's eaten three or four he won't be willing to buy any more."
"Three or four, Bob," said his uncle, "why, I really believe we'll get
a barrel full."
"All the better," said Bob, as he scraped out another big one from
behind an old log. "They're in here thick as thieves."
It was nearly sundown when they finished the hunt and by that time
most of the boys in the neighborhood had learned that the water was
being drained from the pond and that a turtle hunt was on and had come
down to see the fun.
They were astonished at the number of turtles they found, for after
giving every boy one, they had two barrels full and eight big turtles
beside.
"How many have you got, Bob?" asked his uncle, as they hitched up the
horse and started for the house.
"Sixty-three, Uncle Joe, counting the big one."
"Why, that'll be over thirty dollars," said his uncle thoughtfully,
"but I told you they were yours, Bob; you suggested the idea and I'll
stick to it."
"Well, it only goes to show," replied Bob, "that Mr. White was right.
We've lots of resources we're neglecting to develop."
When they reached the barnyard they put the turtles in the corn crib
until morning, for they didn't have enough empty water barrels for
them to swim in. They then went into the house and got rid of their
muddy clothes.
"Well, I'm glad I lived long enough to see the old pond drained,"
remarked Bob's grandmother at supper that night. "I always said it was
a great nuisance, as well as a waste of good bottom land--now that
there's no more logs to be sawed. But you shouldn't have done it on
Sunday, Joe; you should have waited until to-morrow."
V
SELLING TURTLES
A little after nine o'clock the following morning, John White,
president of the First National Bank, and his friend, Alfred Dow,
superintendent of agencies of the Farmers' Mutual Life Insurance
Company, of New York City, walked up Sixth Avenue from the banker's
home and turned into Philadelphia Street. They were engaged in earnest
conversation and had reached the bank before they noticed a farm wagon
with a boy perched on the driver's seat, standing near the curb.
"Where do you want me to deliver your turtles, Mr. White?" called the
boy, and the men turned to look at the speaker.
"Why, hello, Bob!" exclaimed the banker. "Did you get me a turtle
already?" Then turning to his friend, he remarked, "I can now give you
that promised turtle dinner, Al. How many did you catch, Bob?" he
asked, coming over to the wagon.
"Sixty-three," replied Bob, "but I kept one for myself."
"What's that you're saying?" asked the astonished banker. "Sixty-three
turtles for me?"
"No, only sixty-two for you, Mr. White; I kept one for myself,"
replied Bob smiling.
"But, Bob, what would I do with sixty-two turtles? I couldn't eat that
many in ten years." "Well, you didn't say you'd eat them," said Bob
continuing to smile. "You only said you'd pay fifty cents each for all
I could catch and bring to you."
"That's right, Bob; he did say that," interrupted Mr. Dow, enjoying
the situation. "I'll back you, Bob. He made a verbal contract with you
for all you could catch. I heard him say so myself."
"But, great guns, Al, what will I do with so many turtles?" asked the
banker, looking hopelessly from one to the other.
"I'll tell you what," said his friend still laughing; "our company's
going to give a dinner in Pittsburgh day after tomorrow to our Western
Pennsylvania agents. I've been looking for a novelty for the dinner
and this will do fine. We'll go into the bank and call up the Fort
Henry Hotel and talk with the manager. We'll sell him the turtles and
you come down and have dinner with us and meet our men."
They were gone about twenty minutes, and both were laughing when they
returned.
"You win, Bob," said the banker.
"All right," laughed the happy boy. "Where do you want them delivered
and who'll count them?"
"Take them over to the express office, and I'll take your word for the
count, Bob. Tell them I'll send over the shipping directions later."
"How about the grain sacks?" asked Bob. "The turtles are mine, but the
grain sacks belong to Uncle Joe, and I'll have to charge you extra for
them unless you guarantee that they'll be returned."
"I'll guarantee to have them returned," said the banker, "but tell me,
Bob, how in the world did you catch sixty-three turtles since Saturday
afternoon?"
"Uncle Joe drained the pond yesterday," replied Bob, smiling back at
them as he started for the express office.
A half hour later he walked into the bank and stepping up to the
cashier's window asked for the president.
"He's in a conference in the directors' room," replied the cashier.
"Are you Bob Williams?"
"Yes," he replied.
"Come this way," he said. "The president left word to have you shown
in as soon as you returned. Turtles seem to be biting pretty good this
weather," he laughed, as he conducted him to a small room in the rear
of the bank.
Bob had never had much to do with banks; indeed, he could count on the
fingers of one hand all the times he had ever been inside of one, and
as to a directors' private room, he did not even know there was such a
place, let alone ever having been in one. It was not to be wondered at
then that he was embarrassed when he entered the room a moment later
and saw the president and his friend seated in comfortable leather
chairs before a large mahogany table.
"Back already, Bob?" asked the banker. "I don't suppose you thought to
inquire how much the express charges will be on those turtles to
Pittsburgh?"
"Yes, I did. They weighed 378 pounds, and the rate is 75 cents per
hundred pounds--that makes $2.63," he replied, drawing a small
notebook from his pocket and consulting a memorandum he had made.
"Do you always figure out things?" asked the banker, apparently much
interested that Bob had taken the trouble to find out the rate and
figure the cost of the expressage to Pittsburgh.
"I do most always," he answered. "I learned to do that selling
chickens and keeping account of the milk Gurney gives."
"Don't you keep a record of the milk all your cows give?" asked Mr.
Dow.
"Oh, Gurney is our cow at home--not one of Uncle Joe's cows. Gurney's
a purebred with a pedigree," he declared proudly.
"When are you going to start keeping a record of the cows on the farm,
Bob?" asked the banker.
"I don't know," replied Bob. "Uncle Joe don't believe in it yet. He
thinks it's a waste of time, and he always laughs when I tell him that
it is the only way to find out if a cow's worth her keep, but," he
added smiling, "he drained the pond and he didn't believe in that two
days ago."
"I suppose you want the money for the turtles, Bob," said the banker,
getting back to the main subject.
"Well, yes," he said, "but who's buying them, Mr. White--you or Mr.
Dow?"
"Ha, ha," laughed the banker. "This is where you get stuck, Al."
"Why, how's that?" asked his friend.
"Well," said the banker, "I asked the manager of the Fort Henry how
much he'd pay a pound for nice fat turtles. You see, Bob, I reduce
everything to figures, too. Look at this and you'll see why it pays."
Bob took the paper and read "378 pounds turtles, at 30 cents per
pound--$75.60, less $2.63 expressage--$72.97."
"But you haven't deducted anything for your own trouble, Mr. White,"
said Bob, scarcely able to believe his eyes. "Don't you intend to
charge anything for selling them to the hotel? Father says every
business man must make profit on the things he sells, if he wants to
keep in business."
"Well, Bob, I'm not going to charge you a commission on this deal.
I've had too much fun already sticking my friend Al here a stiff price
for the turtles," he added laughing.
"Don't think you've turned such a clever trick, John," replied his
friend. "The hotel's only paying about $40 more than you were willing
to pay yourself, and probably won't use half of them for our dinner.
Besides, I've gotten a fine idea for my talk at our meeting on
Wednesday night."
"What's that?" asked the banker.
"Hidden Treasure," replied his friend. "Why, just look what's happened
to Bob here in two days. On Saturday there was a pond occupying
fifteen acres of the best ground on the farm and producing nothing.
To-day he has $72.97 and has prepared the way for the finest field of
corn that will be raised this year in the county, if not the state,
and there's no telling what he may do yet when he gets his Uncle Joe
thoroughly waked up," he laughed.
"By the way, Bob, do you want your money in cash?" asked the banker
looking at him keenly.
"If it's all the same to you, Mr. White, I'd like to leave it here on
deposit," replied Bob.
"Put it in the savings department, Bob," suggested Mr. Dow, "then
you'll get interest. Say, Bob," he continued, "tell your Uncle Joe I'm
going to have our agent see him and show him how he can protect his
family while he's paying for the farm."
"All right, I'll tell him," Bob replied.
When Bob drove into the barnyard just before noon his uncle hurried
over and looked into the wagon.
"Why, did he take all the turtles, Bob?" he inquired, surprised to
find the wagon empty.
"Yes, he took them," said Bob, "and sold them right away to the Fort
Henry Hotel in Pittsburgh. He called them up on the long distance
telephone."
"How much did he pay you for them?" was the next inquiry.
"$72.97," replied Bob proudly.
"What! for those turtles!" exclaimed his uncle. "I don't believe it."
"Well, you don't have to believe me," Bob laughed as he jumped from
the wagon. "I've the proof here." And he proudly exhibited his new
bank book.
The look of surprise on his uncle's face gave way to one of
disappointment.
"Of course, Uncle Joe, I put the money in the bank--I didn't want to
carry it around," he added.
His uncle said nothing more, but turned on his heel and walked away.
It was very evident to Bob that he had changed his mind and expected
him to turn over the proceeds from the sale of the turtles, but he was
determined that his uncle should stick to his agreement.
"Uncle Joe," he called, as his uncle reached the gate. "Mr. White told
me to tell you that the matter you were discussing with him was all
right and that he would be glad to see you any time."
"Oh, he did," said his uncle, turning and coming back to the wagon,
where Bob was unhitching the team.
"Yes, he did," said Bob, "said he'd accommodate you any time you were
in town."
"Well, I'm glad you drove a good bargain for the sale of the turtles,
Bob," remarked his uncle, the look of disappointment gone. "I said
they were yours and I want you to know that I still feel the same way
about it."
"Thank you, Uncle Joe," replied Bob, as he started for the barn with
the team.
VI
SELLING SAND
"Bob," said his uncle after dinner, as they were bringing the horses
from the barn, "the old pond looks as though it might take all summer
to dry out. Then, too, the brook winds through the center of it in
such a way as to really spoil the field for farming."
"Why couldn't we straighten the brook, Uncle Joe," asked Bob, after a
moment's thought, "or move it over to the south side against the bank
there. That would make it almost a straight line between the lane
bridge and the old forebay."
"But that would make a lot of work, Bob," replied his uncle, "and we
have more now than we have time for. It would be a good idea though to
have the brook on the outside of the field; but what bothers me most
is how we're going to keep the field from being flooded every time it
rains."
To this Bob made no reply.
All afternoon, as they were hauling manure to the field, he kept
turning over in his mind the question of straightening the brook, for
it was now evident that in order to make the field a success the brook
would not only have to be straightened but moved over to the south
side, so as to have the field all in one piece. He realized now that
the easiest part of redeeming the pond had been the letting out of the
water, and also that his uncle was right in saying that it might take
all summer for the bottom to dry out sufficiently for planting.
Bob had persuaded his uncle to let him stop work in the afternoon at
four-thirty in order to have time to do the milking and chores, and he
found that by hurrying he could get through before six o'clock. So
that night in the early twilight, he paced off the length of the south
side of the pond and found it was approximately seven hundred feet
from the bridge to the forebay. He remembered that, except on rare
occasions, the opening between the abutments of the bridge that
carried the lane over the brook had always been sufficient to take
care of any water. He now measured this space and found that the
abutments were eighteen feet apart and from the under side of the
timbers to the bed of the brook it was four feet six inches. He
returned to the house and got out his notebook and began making some
calculations. He found the area of the space under the bridge to be
eighty-one square feet. If they could dig a ditch back a few feet from
the south bank of the pond, where the ground rose sharply, and throw
the excavated earth on the north side of the cut, they would have a
channel with two good banks at the expense of making only one.
By pacing off eighteen feet of the bank, he had found that the slope
of the ground would average about two feet for that distance. The
depth of the water along the bank on the south side had been about two
feet. By digging three feet below the level of the bottom of the pond
it would mean an average cut of six feet. Taking out a block of earth
approximately eighteen feet by six feet, of one hundred and eight
square feet, would raise the banks high enough to allow for heavy
freshets, and the bottom of the ditch, being three feet below the
bottom of the pond, would allow for drainage.
He now calculated the amount of earth to be removed and found there
would be twenty-eight hundred cubic yards to be dug and piled up to
form the new north bank of the cut. He had no idea how much time it
would require to do this work, or what it might cost if they hired a
man to do it for them. After sitting for a few minutes debating the
matter, he became so sleepy that he put his notebook in his pocket and
went to bed.
"How long will it take you to dig a cubic yard of earth and pile it
out on one side of a ditch, Uncle Joe?" asked Bob the next morning at
the breakfast table.
"I don't know, Bob. Why do you ask?"
"I wanted to find out how much it would cost to straighten the brook
in our new bottom field," he replied.
"Well, I know one thing," said his uncle, "and that is that it will
cost more than I can afford to spend; and you know, Bob, we have no
time for digging ditches ourselves--in fact, it seems to me it was a
great mistake to drain the pond at all--the water at least covered the
bad-smelling bottom, and we could shoot an occasional wild duck
there."
"I'm not so sure about it being too expensive," replied Bob. "Mr.
White said yesterday that it didn't matter so much what an improvement
cost, if it could be made to pay the interest on the investment and
earn a profit beside. All I need to know now to complete my figures is
how much earth a man can dig and then I can tell how much it would
cost."
"If you want to know so badly, Bob, why don't you take a pick and
shovel and dig out a yard, and find out for yourself," suggested his
grandmother.
"Yes," said his uncle, "then you'd know what a real backache feels
like."
"All right," said Bob, "when may I do it?" turning to his uncle.
"Well, I suppose you might as well do it this morning as any time,"
said his uncle. "I know you won't be able to sleep to-night until you
find out; besides, I'm going to town and you can have the forenoon
off."
"That'll be fine, Uncle Joe," said Bob, "and there's another thing
too, I wanted to ask you. I see wagons hauling sand and gravel from
our pit. Who collects the money and how much do you charge them?"
"Charge a neighbor for a few loads of sand, Bob? What are you talking
about? Of course not."
"But if you went to their farms, Uncle Joe, and asked for the rich
soil out of their fields, they'd make you pay for it."
"Why, of course, Bob, but rich soil and sand and gravel are different.
There's plenty of sand and gravel."
"Where, Uncle Joe?"
"Oh, everywhere."
"Then if that's so," said Bob, "why did Dan McCormick send his three
wagons four miles to our pit last week? He said it was the nearest
sand to his farm and what's more he said it's the only clean sand and
gravel that don't need washing for fifteen miles around. I think we
ought to charge them so much a yard."
"All right, Bob," said his uncle, whose mind was evidently occupied
with things more important than selling sand. "You go ahead and make
them pay, but remember, if you don't have any friends among your
neighbors, don't blame me."
When his uncle returned from town a little after twelve o'clock, he
drove down to see what Bob was doing, and found him at work on the
ditch. As soon as Bob saw his uncle's face, he knew he had received
his loan from Mr. White, for he was smiling and seemed to be very
happy.