“That is a first-rate plan,” said Whistler. “I should think you might make lots of money in that way.”
“This isn’t all,” added Clinton; “I have a flock of turkeys, and a lot of ducks, besides. The turkeys are off, somewhere; they roam all over the farm. The ducks are in that little house down by the brook; we’ll go and see them by-and-by.”
“I should think I was rich, if I owned so many creatures,” said Whistler. “But you have to buy corn for them,—I suppose that takes off the profit, doesn’t it?”
“I haven’t bought a bushel of corn since the first year I had them,” replied Clinton. “Do you see that cornfield, just beyond the brook? That is my field. I planted and hoed it myself, and I shall have all the corn that grows there.”
“But how did you come by it?—did you buy the land?” inquired Whistler, more astonished than ever.
“No, I don’t own the land,” replied Clinton. “Father has got more than he can cultivate, and he lets me have the use of that piece for nothing. He helps me plough and harrow it, too; but I have to do everything else myself. If I want any manure, I pay him for it. If the corn does well, I shall have enough to carry all my fowls through another year. There will be a lot of corn fodder too, that I shall sell to father for the cows; and I have a lot of pumpkins scattered in among the corn, that will be worth something in the fall.”
“Well, you’re a real farmer, as well as a carpenter, that’s a fact,” said his cousin. “How I should like to be in your shoes!—and not in yours, either, but in another pair just like them. Come, don’t you want a partner? I’ll buy in, and we’ll start a new firm—‘C. & W. Davenport, Farmers, Poultry Dealers and Carpenters.’ Won’t that sound tall! What will you sell out one half of your business for? I haven’t much capital, and don’t know much about the business; but I’ll try to make myself useful.”
“I’m afraid you would get sick of the bargain,” replied Clinton. “You’d find it pretty tough work to hoe an acre of corn down there in the sun, when the thermometer is up to ninety in the shade. It’s a good deal of trouble, too, to take care of so many fowls every day, in summer and winter. I like to do it, to be sure; but a great many boys would think they were real slaves if they had to do what I do.”
“It doesn’t take all your time, does it?” inquired Whistler.
“O, no,” replied Clinton. “I suppose it doesn’t take me more than two hours a day, on an average, to take care of my fowls and cornfield; but I do other work besides. I have had the whole care of the garden this summer. Come and look at it.”