The Transaction

MY father was a farmer on a big scale. We had chickens, cows, horses, pigs, dogs, cats, pigeons, and white mice. We had over two hundred acres of land, three orchards, two wagon sheds, a 1924 Ford, and a threshing machine composed of parts from the cast-offs of eight or nine worn-out machines.

The first year we lived on the farm we sold milk, butter, and eggs. The second year we lived there my father decided he would make some money raising calves. One after another we took all of our cows to a breeder. When all of the cows had been taken we sat down and waited for one of them to have a calf. It was very discouraging, because none of them did. They went on eating and sleeping and cutting capers in the field without swelling up, so my father said the thing to do was to go out through the countryside and buy up a cow that would make a good mother.

So we went from farm to farm in one of our wagons, drawn by two beautiful white horses; and at every farm we came to we stopped, asked the farmer if he had a cow that would make a good mother of a good calf, and then, when the farmer did n’t have such a cow, we went on. We found a farmer who said he had a cow that would make a good mother of a good calf.

‘How much for the cow? ’ my father asked.

‘Eighty dollars,’ the farmer said.

‘That is indeed too much,’ my father said. ‘I can’t begin to buy a cow for such a price.’

My father was a shrewd business man. He held to his guns.

‘Well, make it seventy-five then — no more, no less.’

My father put his hand to his head, thinking, pretending to be in deep thought. ‘That is still too high,’ he said. ‘I can’t afford a cow at such a price. Don’t forget I have to take it home. That is an inconvenience.’

‘Well,’ said the farmer, ‘make it seventy dollars — no more, no less.’

‘Now you are beginning to get into my territory,’ said my father. ‘That is a much better price, but it is still a bit high. Can’t you drop that a little?’

‘All right,’ said the farmer, ‘make it $68.99. That is as low as I will go, because the cow’ is a good cow and when it was younger it was a good calf, so I won’t take a penny less than $68.99.’

This my father agreed to pay. We tied a rope about its beautiful neck and pulled it to the wagon, where we fastened the other end of the rope to the wagon bed, and then we got on the wagon and started home.

‘We certainly got that one for a bargain,’ said my father. ‘It goes to show you how a fellow saves money. You have to be shrewd in the world,’ he said.

In fact, my father talked so much about what a wonderful bargain he had completed that he broke out in a sad but beautiful song called ‘Silver Threads among the Gold.’ I began to whistle another song which was popular at that time. It was ‘ It Ain’t Gonna Rain No Mo’.’ Together the songs we whistled were beautiful, but the composite effect they had on the new cow made it stand up on its hind legs and bawl. It kept doing that until it broke the rope and began running back to the place where it was before we had started out that morning.

By the time we got the wagon turned around and the horses quieted from the excitement, the cow had disappeared, except for a cloud of thick dust. We drove the horses back as fast as we could, and when we arrived at the farm again the farmer came out rubbing his hands.

‘ The cow you sold us broke away,’ said my father. ‘We’ve come for it.’

The farmer laughed. ‘Well, that beats all. There was a man and a young boy here about half an hour ago and they bought one of my cows. It’s funny you did n’t pass them goin’ down the road. Now I don’t know you fellows, never seen you before, but if you want to buy a good cow I’ve got a dandy.’

We followed the farmer into the barn. He brought out the cow we had but did n’t have. ‘Here is a nice cow,’ he said. ‘It is gentle and kind. It will make a fine mother to any calf, black or white.'

‘All right,’ said my father. ‘How much for it?’

‘Well,’said the farmer, spitting, ’I think eighty dollars is a fair price for it.’

‘That is a little more than I intended paying,’ said my father. ‘That is a little too much.’

I touched my father’s arm. We went into a corner of the barn and talked. ‘Tisten,’ I said. ‘That cow is n’t worth any more than $68.99. Why don’t you go back and offer him $68.99?’

‘Fine,’ my father said. ‘That is what I will do. You are a chip off the old block when it comes to transactions and business.’

My father went back to the farmer, who was smoothing the cow’s short hair.

’I’ll give you $68.99 for your cow,’ said my father.

The farmer took off his hat and scratched his head. After a minute or two he said, ‘That is a fair price, in the face of things. The cow is yours.’

So my father paid the farmer and we tied a rope around the cow and fastened the other end to the wagon bed and started down the road toward our farm. The sun was low in the sky, and our shadows on the road were long and rhythmic.

By nightfall we arrived home and found that one of our own cows had had a little calf, a brown one with white spots.

‘A calf, a calf!’ screamed my father, running around in circles. He was very happy.

But finally he stopped running around in circles, and a deep cloud came across his oncebeaming face. ‘This will never do,’ said my father. ‘This will never do, because we don’t need the cow we just bought, not when we have a cow capable of having a calf of its own.’

‘That is right,’ I said. ‘Now we have one cow too many.’

‘And we can’t take the new one back,’ my father said as he sat down at the edge of the road and put his large head into his heavy hands. ‘I am ashamed to take it back because, to begin with, we got it reasonable. Worry, worry,’ my father said.

The cow stood very still, switching the flies from its back with its fine, graceful tail.

All was quiet for a moment.

Then I said, ‘Let me take the cow back. I shall make a deal with the farmer. I am a chip off the old block. You said so yourself.’

My father took his head out of his hands and laughed. ‘Anyway, go ahead,’ he said. ‘Getting into the business world like that will do you good, even if you fail. You are not too young to learn.’

So I took the cow back to the farmer. It was a pleasant, well-behaved cow. We got along nicely.

The farmer was coming down toward the road with a lantern. I did n’t know what to say, but finally I said, ‘I am bringing back your cow.’

I was about to say we had a cow that had had a calf of its own and that now we did n’t need this one, but the farmer waved his hand.

‘I was just about to post a reward,’ he said. ‘I lost one of my cows. It strayed away three hours ago. I was just about to post a reward for twenty dollars, and you found my cow and were honest enough to return it. Here is the twenty dollars.’ He patted me on the head. ‘You are an honest lad,’ he said. Then he took the cow and started back to the barn and I started home.

It was late when I arrived, and my father and mother were eating supper. ‘Well,’ he said when I came into the kitchen, ‘how did you make out? Surely the farmer would n’t accept the cow?’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘he took it back and gave me twenty dollars besides.’ I banded my father the twenty dollars.

‘Glory, glory,’ said my father, ‘What a business man my son is! You are every bit as good as your father. Look, Mother, see what a fine son we have! He will go far in the world.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said my mother. She gave me a slice of cake and placed the jar of jelly before me. ‘Sit down and eat, my son,’ she said; ‘you must be tired.’

My father was jumping about in the kitchen, waving the twenty-dollar bill over his head. ‘He is a wonder boy,’ my father said. ‘He is a business man. Now we have twenty dollars and a new calf besides.’ Then he ran out of the house and down to the barn.

And now that we live in the city, having lost the farm through a little mismanagement, my father always tells the people who come to see us just how I am a chip off the old block. He tells about the whole transaction. He gets up from his chair and sits down, and when it is over and he has finished he just sits quietly in the corner of the room and does n’t have another word to say.