"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."