Hidden Treasure. John Thomas Simpson
John, if the farmer is a live one—one who has the 'git up and git,' as you say—we'll advance him any reasonable amount of money to help him. And that, by the way, brings me around to tell you why I dropped off to see you this morning. We want to place some of our surplus funds in farm loans in your section and would like to have your bank handle them for us."
"Why, Al, that's fine. I've a small policy myself in your company, and it's certainly good of you to pick out the First National to place these loans. I'll be a real booster for your company now.
"But referring to wasted opportunities, Al, do you see that sand and gravel pit over there on the other side of the pond? There's enough sand and gravel there, I've no doubt, to supply this entire county with concrete fence posts, silos, barns and all manner of buildings, to say nothing of building fine concrete roads throughout the whole county. And I'll tell you something more: Joe Williams hasn't waked up to the fact that there's a railroad coming through about three miles below his farm that will require thousands of yards of sand and gravel for concrete bridges, and that this is the only sand and gravel pit within a reasonable haul that's worth while. Why, do you know, Al, for years and years they've been letting people drive in here and haul away sand and gravel free of charge.
"You don't say!" exclaimed his friend.
"Yes, but speaking of concrete, Al, just think what a saving in horseflesh a twenty-foot smooth concrete road all the way from here to town would mean to these farmers—recent tests with a three-ton auto truck show that while it could make only 3.6 miles per hour over dirt roads, it could make twelve miles per hour over unsurfaced concrete roads, which would represent in the United States a saving of nearly two and one-half million dollars on auto-truck hauling alone, to say nothing of horse-drawn vehicles—just think of it, Al. But there's that old dirt road, same as it's been for years, hub deep with mud in spring and winter, and so dusty in summer that there is no pleasure in driving over it, and a dead loss in both time and money every time a farmer drives over it."
"It's surely the roughest road I've ever traveled on, John," laughed his friend, "and I've no doubt what you say is right. If farmers would only take to using lead pencils and figure a little they would soon discover where their losses are."
"You know the old way of repairing roads, Al. They dig the dirt out of the gutters in the springtime and fill up the rut holes, and then the next spring do the same thing over again, from 'generation to generation,' as the good Book says. I'm satisfied myself," he continued, "that our county will never go ahead until we begin putting down good roads. I was telling our Commissioners only yesterday that the First National Bank would guarantee the bond issue for any road- building work they would undertake in any part of the county."
The two men sat in silence for a time, looking out at the rain. Then they got up and started to walk to the other end of the mill.
"Why, hello, boy! Fishing?" remarked Al, as he noticed Bob for the first time.
"Yes," replied Bob.
"Catching anything, are you?" asked the banker.
"Well, you never can tell what you can catch on a rainy day," the boy replied slowly. "Uncle Joe greased the grindstone to-day for the first time in its history."
"You don't say!" laughed the banker; "who put him up to that, I'd like to know?"
Bob only grinned and remained silent.
"Well, it looks as though the rain were going to pass over," said the banker a few minutes later, as he looked out at his stranded automobile.
"What's your name, young man?" inquired the insurance man.
"Bob Williams," he replied.
"Oh, then you are Billy Williams' son, who's working here this summer," said the banker. "Well, how does it happen that you're fishing instead of working to-day, I'd like to know? Couldn't your Uncle Joe find anything for you to do?"
"Yes, he did; but we greased the grindstone and got through at noon,"
Bob replied smiling.
"Well, he was square in letting you have the afternoon off after you showed him how to save it," the banker replied. "Some time, Bob, when you're in town, drop in and see me at the bank, and, by the way, if you ever catch any turtles, bring them to me. I'll be glad to pay you fifty cents each for all you can catch. I'm rather fond of a good snapper."
"What are you going to do now?" inquired the insurance man, seeing Bob winding up his fishing line.
"Guess I'll go up to the barn and look for some lumber to build a long ladder," the boy replied grinning.
"Well, so long, Bob," said the insurance man with a smile. "Good luck to you! I see you've good ears."
IV
DRAINING THE POND
It was quite evident to Bob the next morning that his uncle was worrying about something; he was not only absent-minded, but he was short and crusty and found fault with everything that Bob did.
It was Sunday, and after the chores were finished, Bob walked down back of the barn and stood looking at the pond for quite a while, pondering over what the banker and insurance man had said. Then he walked over to the west slope which ran along the side of the small hill where the house and barn stood and examined the contour of the ground carefully.
"What are you trying to discover in the hog lot, Bob?" asked his uncle, suddenly coming up behind him.
Bob's face was very serious, and he looked up at his uncle a moment before replying.
"I was just wondering how much it would cost to hire a man to grade a road up the side of this slope and get rid of the steep hill in front of the barn."
"What an idea!" exclaimed his uncle. "Hire a man, indeed! You must be crazy. We don't hire any men to work on this farm."
"Oh, yes, you do—you hired me, Uncle Joe."
"Well, but that's different, Bob," said his uncle, half smiling. "You don't get paid."
"Oh, yes, I do, Uncle Joe. Father said you told him you'd pay me whatever I was worth to you, and I'm willing to wait till you find out, but I certainly expect to be paid money for my work."
"Your father shouldn't have told you I'd give you money. Of course," he added quickly, seeing Bob's face cloud, "I expect to get you some new clothes in the fall."
"But father said I'm old enough now to buy my own clothes and that this year he'd let me do it. You just keep account of how much work and other things I do for you and pay me what I'm worth," Bob answered.
"What do you mean about other things?" asked his uncle quickly.
"Well, for instance," said Bob, looking him squarely in the eyes, "you want to borrow a thousand dollars at the First National Bank and they haven't told you whether they'd give it to you or not."
"Who told you that?" demanded his uncle coloring.
"I don't care to say," replied Bob, "but it wasn't grandmother or grandfather," he added quickly, to clear them of any suspicion of having violated a confidence.
"Of course, they didn't," said his uncle. "They don't know anything about it."
"I can tell you how you can get all the money you want—enough even to build a new house and a new barn, with silos, new fences, and other buildings. Also a concrete road from the house to the main road and put a bathroom and electric lights in the house, too," Bob added.
"Have you gone crazy?" demanded his uncle, scarcely able to believe his ears. "What nonsense are you talking this morning?"
"Well, you want to find out how it can be done, don't you?" he asked.
"Well, it