“Can’t we buy what we wish without giving our history?” demanded Phil.
“Say, do you think I’m letting an outfit go without knowing where it’s going?” snorted the proprietor. “How could I collect?”
“We intend to pay cash,” announced Ted. This statement evoked even more surprise from those who had heard it than anything that had happened before, and the loungers commented freely upon it.
To the boys’ relief, however, it turned the store-keeper from a “doubting Thomas” to an eager salesman. And straightway he bustled about, dragging out plows, harrows, cultivators, chains, hoes, rakes, and the many other things needed to work the ground and furnish the cabin.
Determined not to be denied some fun from baiting the boys, the loungers advised the purchase of all sorts of useless implements, drawing upon their imaginations for instances when the possession of such and such a tool would have spelled the difference between success and failure to themselves or friends. But Phil and Ted paid them no more heed than as if they had not been within a hundred miles.
Selecting only the best, the outfit was at last complete, even to the seed, included in which Ted insisted upon having some “durum” wheat, much to the amusement of the proprietor.
“How much do we owe you?” asked Ted, drawing out his pocket-book.
“Hundred and sixty-five dollars,” said the store-keeper, after adding up the amounts.
“That means a hundred and forty-eight dollars and a half, allowing us the usual discount for cash,” said Phil. “Pay him, Ted. Kindly give us a receipt, please.”
Several times the proprietor opened his mouth to protest, but the sight of the money in the younger boy’s hands and the chuckles of the loafers caused him to shut it each time in silence, and, as though in a daze, he passed over a receipt.