Chapter 3

"Well, for instance," said Bob, looking him squarely in the eyes, "you want to borrow a thousand dollars at the First National Bank and they haven't told you whether they'd give it to you or not."

"Who told you that?" demanded his uncle coloring.

"I don't care to say," replied Bob, "but it wasn't grandmother or grandfather," he added quickly, to clear them of any suspicion of having violated a confidence.

"Of course, they didn't," said his uncle. "They don't know anything about it."

"I can tell you how you can get all the money you want--enough even to build a new house and a new barn, with silos, new fences, and other buildings. Also a concrete road from the house to the main road and put a bathroom and electric lights in the house, too," Bob added.

"Have you gone crazy?" demanded his uncle, scarcely able to believe his ears. "What nonsense are you talking this morning?"

"Well, you want to find out how it can be done, don't you?" he asked.

"Well, it won't do any harm to tell me," replied his uncle, suddenly remembering his approaching marriage and how far his slender purse would go toward fixing up the place and making it presentable to his bride.

"Drain the pond and plant it in corn," said Bob triumphantly.

"What's that?" asked his uncle again, not sure he heard correctly.

"Drain the pond and plant it in corn," repeated Bob. "You won't have 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."