“Can ye doubt it, sor, to see me happy face? Fourteen hundred dollars as ag’inst six hundred an’ thirty dollars! Sure, I feel rich. An’ ’tis fine, Mr. Pennykorn, to know that ye are glad with me.”
Well, say! When Poppy and I heard that we almost busted right out. For you can imagine how “glad” the banker was. Oh, yes, he was about as glad as you would be if your folks sent you down town to the dentist on your birthday to have three or four teeth pulled.
“Mrs. O’Mally,” he drew himself up, as we could see by watching him in the kitchen mirror, “you had no right to sell your cucumber crop to an outsider without first consulting us.”
“Sure,” says the woman, pretending innocence, “ye take a strange view of me good fortune, Mr. Pennykorn, considerin’ how anxious ye was a moment ago to have me sell where I could get the most money. ’Tis almost displeased that ye act, sor.”
“You know that we were figuring on your cucumber crop.”
“Well, if the lack of it is goin’ to cripple ye, ye may be able to get the new buyers to divvy up with ye.”
“At two dollars a bushel? We’ll never pay such an outrageous price!”
Here footsteps sounded on the side porch. And wheeling, who should Poppy and I see in the door but young smarty. His eyes sure stuck out when he saw us. Then around the house he went on the tear, tumbling in through the front door.
“Hey, Grandpop! That Ott kid and monkey-face Todd are listening in the kitchen.”
Monkey-face!