"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 Sat.u.r.day 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 embarra.s.sed 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 Sat.u.r.day 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.