VII
THE NEW AUNT
The following week was a very busy and eventful one for Bob. Plowing time was rapidly approaching, and his uncle was anxious to have all the manure placed on the fields ready to start work early; besides, they had taken a day off at Bob's urging to prune the young orchard. On Thursday he received a large package of Farm Bulletins from the Department of Agriculture at Washington, in reply to a postcard he had sent. He had only time for a hasty glance through them, before having to lay them away for careful reading later.
On Friday his uncle turned over the team to him, saying he was going to town for the day. Bob noticed that he had dressed up in his best clothes, so was not surprised when he came in from work late that afternoon to find they had company at the house.
"Come here, Bob," called his uncle cheerily, as he entered. "I want you to meet your new Aunt Bettie. She isn't exactly your aunt yet, but she will be soon."
Bob hastened forward to take the out stretched hand of the woman who rose to greet him.
Bob had a quick eye for beauty; he noted the fair, soft complexion which the rich dark hair set off so beautifully, but not this alone made the strong and conscious appeal to him—it was the frank manner with which she took his hand and the friendly light in her lovely brown eyes that won Bob completely.
"So this is 'Bob,' of whom you have been telling me," said Miss Atwood. "I'm certainly glad to make your acquaintance, Bob. Your Uncle Joe has been telling me many things about you, and I know we're going to be fast friends and have lots of fun together on the farm this summer."
"I hope so," said Bob, "for I like farming better than anything I know; there are so many interesting things to see and do."
"I'm glad to hear you say that, Bob," she replied. "In these days, when most boys of your age want to be in the town and cities, it's refreshing to find one who has vision enough to appreciate the golden opportunities of the country. Your Uncle Joe doesn't know it, but I've been doing considerable reading myself about farm life and farm work since we became engaged, and the more I read the more enthusiastic I become, and I'm sure we're going to have lots of pleasant days and evenings, too, together."
"Have you been reading farm bulletins, also, Aunt Bettie?" Bob asked hesitating, as he used her new title for the first time.
"That's right, I want you to call me 'Aunt Bettie'," she replied quickly, seeing his embarrassment. "Yes, I've gotten a great many bulletins from the Department of Agriculture at Washington and have read them over and over very carefully. The opportunities on a farm, if one just keeps his eyes open, are certainly wonderful."
"I'd like to read your bulletins, too," said Bob, his eyes sparkling.
"I thought you were going to give up teaching school, Bettie," interrupted her intended husband, "and here you and Bob are getting ready to start one. First thing you know, you'll be getting another scholar, one six feet tall," and he laughed down at her.
"Well, frankly, Joe," she replied, "you might spend your evenings less profitably than reading bulletins and other interesting papers on making farms pay."
"Guess I'll have to get in line," he replied laughing. "Bob's been preaching to me ever since he came here about modernizing the old farm and digging up our 'Hidden Treasure,' as he calls it."
"You'll have to excuse me now, Aunt Bettie," said Bob, "for it's milking time and I always plan to milk our cows regularly."
His heart was light and he whistled a merry tune as he started for the barn, the milk pails on his arm. He now felt sure that this summer was going to be the happiest one he had ever spent.
After the supper dishes had been cleared away, they sat together and talked of the things to be done to improve the farm and which would be the best crops to plant. As the discussion continued, Joe Williams began to realize that both Bettie and Bob knew many things about farming of which he was ignorant—things which, he reluctantly admitted to himself, were of the utmost importance.
On Saturday they quit work at noon to go to town. Bob asked his uncle if he were going to take Mr. Brady's contract and show it to Mr. White, the banker.
"The bank closes at noon on Saturdays, Bob," replied his uncle, "and we're to be pretty busy, Bettie and I, buying our things, for we're getting new furniture for the house, and I want to bring it back with me."
"Perhaps Mr. White doesn't go out of town on Saturday and I could find him at his home," said Bob. "I think we ought to have the matter settled before Mr. Brady gets here on Monday morning with his tools. It might make some difference if he started work before the agreement is signed."
"All right, Bob, you take the contract and try to find him. I'll be too busy loading the furniture to bother with it."
So as soon as he arrived in town, Bob left the wagon in front of the furniture store where his uncle, who had driven in with Miss Atwood in the buggy, was waiting. He hurried over to the First National Bank. The bank seemed to be closed, but the entrance door was unlocked, and after some time he found the banker in the directors' room going over some papers.
"Back already for your money, Bob?" laughed the banker, as he opened the door to admit him.
"No, Mr. White, I haven't yet found a better investment for the money. I came to see you about our sand pit. A Mr. Brady, who says he has the contract to build some bridges for the new railroad, wants to buy our sand and we have made a bargain with him and he put it in writing. We didn't sign it, for while it seems to be all right, Uncle Joe would like to have you look it over first."
"Oh, indeed," replied the banker, "and whose idea was it that I should read the contract before signing?"
"Well," hesitated Bob, "we thought maybe it would be better to be sure it was all right since you're loaning Uncle Joe money for the farm."
"That's right, Bob; that's only fair. Follow out that principle and you'll always get along."
He took the paper and read it through carefully and laid it down. Then he reflected a moment, picked it up and read it again. Then he whistled softly.
"You're right, Bob, in bringing this to me," he said, tapping the top of the table thoughtfully with the end of his pencil. "That contract is very well written.
"You see, Bob," said the banker, laying the document on the table, "this contract would be all right if you were sure you had enough sand and gravel to supply Mr. Brady's wants, but you will notice that he does not specify how much material he expected to use, nor does he state when he will require it, and if he took a notion to measure all the sand you have in the pit and issue a receipt for it, he could take it and let it lie on your ground for re-sale; he could do that under this agreement. Also, if you didn't have as much material as he wanted, he could compel you to supply him from other sources at the rate of fifty cents a yard."
"Well, what had we better do about it, Mr. White?" inquired Bob. "Mr. Brady's going to go to work on the ditch on Monday morning. He's setting up his caterpillar steam shovel now and getting ready."
"Wait a moment," said the banker, as he pressed the button. "I'll see if my stenographer has gone. She usually leaves at noon, but to-day I had some extra work that she stayed to finish—no, here she comes— we'll have it re-written."
"Will you kindly make two copies of this agreement, Miss Brown?" asked the banker.
"You see, Bob, there should always be two copies of all agreements— one fer yourself and one for the other party to the contract. It is always best to have all agreements in duplicate."
"You see, Bob," said the banker, as he finished dictating, "I've added a time limit to the contract. A year from now, when I hope they will begin making concrete county roads, your sand and gravel, if the supply holds out, ought to be worth at least $1.00 per cubic yard."
"I had no idea sand and gravel were so valuable" said Bob.
"Well, I've been looking the matter up a bit lately," replied the banker, "and I wouldn't be surprised if you could get that price for it a year from now—maybe before that even. There isn't a great deal of good sand and gravel in the entire county—certainly none that is as good as yours. If you've something else you'd like to do, Bob, you may stop around in an hour or so and get these contracts. I'll read them over after Miss Brown has them finished, and put my O. K. on them. I may not be here when you return."
Bob hastened to the store to impart the information he had obtained to his uncle, but found him so busy loading the farm wagon with his new purchases that Bob had to explain the matter to him several times before he seemed to understand.
At four o'clock Bob returned to the bank and received the corrected copies from the president, who was still there.
"How much do we owe you, Mr. White, for doing this for us?" asked Bob.
"Oh, I don't think I'll charge you anything for this, Bob, although it is worth something to know how to do a thing right, but since I've decided to make our bank the headquarters for farmers, we expect to do little things like this for our friends, so you're welcome to whatever the service is worth."
"Well, I'm sure we didn't expect you to do it for nothing," replied Bob, "and I know Uncle Joe will be pleased that you fixed it up for him."
"By the way, Bob," said the banker, "you might tell your uncle that there's going to be a sale of some purebred and grade Holstein cattle next week on a farm in the southern part of the county, and that I'd like to have him bid them in. There are ten young cows and a fine bull—just the kind he should have to start a herd on his farm."
At the mention of the purebreds, Bob's eyes sparkled, but after reflecting a moment he replied:
"Uncle Joe'll not have money enough to buy any now, Mr. White, and besides, he doesn't think there's much advantage in purebred over ordinary cattle."
"You tell your Uncle Joe that the First National Bank is back of him and we'll loan him the necessary money to buy these cattle, and that I think he should replace his present herd of old common cattle with young purebred stock—that it will pay him to do so. He can get back a part of their cost by selling off his present herd. I've about come to the conclusion, Bob, that there's more money in that sand pit of your Uncle Joe's than either you or he have any idea. Tell him the sale will be next Tuesday, and if he'll come in early in the morning, I'll drive him down in my automobile. We can get back easy by noon, so he'll only lose half a day. I know all about these cattle—they're a first-class healthy herd. The man that owned them died, and his widow is selling off all their stock."
"All right, Mr. White, I'll tell him," said Bob. "Thank you for your advice about the contract."
"I want to see that farm of your uncle's, Bob, improved and well stocked this year—first on account of the benefit he'll get from it and second on account of the influence it will have on the neighboring farms. We've lots of good farms around here, Bob, and I want a model one for the others to pattern after. All our farms need to make them pay well is wide-awake farmers, with a constructive bank back of them to give them the necessary financial help to get started. I've decided that the First National is going to be that bank, and stand back of all farmers in this county who'll make real improvements.
"Your uncle's farm I've picked out to start with, on account of his having that gravel pit, which will make it possible to build his new buildings and pay off the mortgage quickly. Of course, the others must necessarily go slower in their improvements, but when we finish with your uncle this fall, Bob, we'll have the others all so jealous they'll just naturally get into line."