“There’s a town a little ahead, I understand,” spoke the man.
“Yes,” nodded Andy; “Afton.”
“Then we’ve got twenty miles to go yet,” sighed the man. “I don’t know how we’ll ever make it.”
Andy gathered from what the man said that he and his family had gone into the speculation of raising geese that season. The nearest railroad to his farm was twenty miles distant. His market was Wade, sixty miles away. He had decided to drive the geese to destination. Two-thirds of the journey accomplished, a long list of disasters spread out behind, and a dubious prospect ahead.
“It would cost me fifty dollars to wagon what’s left to the nearest railroad station, and as much more for freight,” said the man gloomily.
Andy looked speculative. In his mechanical work his inventive turn of mind always caused him to put on his thinking-cap when he faced an obstacle.
“I’ve got an idea,” declared Andy brightly. “Say, mister, suppose I figure out a way to get your geese the rest of the way to market quite safely and comfortably, and help drive them the balance of the distance, what will you do for me?”
“Eh?” ejaculated the man eagerly. “Why, I’d—I’d do almost anything you ask, youngster.”
“Is it worth a pair of shoes, and a new cap and coat?” asked Andy.
“Yes; a whole suit,” said the man emphatically, “and two good dollars a day on top of it.”