The banker hadn’t expected this question.
“Six hundred and thirty dollars is a lot of money, Mrs. O’Mally. And if you have any thought of looking around—”
“I have no need to look around, sor.”
“Fine! We will use you right, of course. For, as I say, that is our fundamental policy.”
“You misunderstand me, Mr. Pennykorn. I said I have no need to look around. For me entire crop has been sold.”
Right then, I guess, is when old pussy-foot got the surprise of his lifetime.
“Sold?” he choked, springing stiffly to his feet.
“At two dollars a bushel,” says Mrs. O’Mally, as sweet as you please.
For a moment or two the banker hadn’t any voice.
“Madam, is this true?”