"You don't tell me!"
"I certainly do. I consider it the best corn for this soil that I could find. It is only better than yours because I take more pains in selecting and testing the seed than you do."
"By gum! I can't believe it."
"Every hill of this corn, and the main part of my crop, came from the two baskets of corn I bought of you a year ago last March. Half of that I discarded. Probably two-thirds of this whole field I shall feed to the cattle. Out of the rest I will sell you what you may need for six dollars a basket, Mr. Brown."
"By gum! I want it," exclaimed the old fellow. "Some of it, anyway."
"It takes but about fourteen ears of corn, you know, to plant an acre. I'll sell you the same quantity I bought of you, if you like, at the price stated. I think it is worth that to raise seed like this, don't you, Mr. Brown?"
"Boy, if what you tell me is true—if this is my corn—then I don't know much about corn growing, after all."
"I guess you know about all there is to know about corn growing to date," laughed Hiram. "But you certainly do not know how to select and test your seed. And then, as I told you back there when I bought of you, you were too good to the rats and the mice. Many a kernel of corn is planted the germ of which the sharp little teeth of the rodents have emasculated."
Daniel Brown was not the only enthusiastic spectator of Hiram's corn. And the harvest bore out the promise, in spite of a heavy wind-storm that knocked down some of it. This that was blown down had glazed and was well matured. Hiram harvested it at once and sold it to fatten hogs at the market price.
This was a small loss compared to the value of the entire crop. This year Sunnyside followed the methods of big corn growers, and most of the corn was husked on the standing stalk, the eager cattle being turned in to graze on the fodder.