new income tax receipts; and the recipe for making clover honey out of clabber and apple peelings; and the order blanks for the McGuffey’s readers, which afterwards turn out to be McCormick reapers; and the pearl necklace found on the train; and a pocketsize goldbrick; and a—’
“‘That’ll be enough,’ says Andy. ‘Any one of the lot ought to land on Ezra. And, say, Jeff, make that succotash fancier give you nice, clean, new bills. It’s a disgrace to our Department of Agriculture, Civil Service and Pure Food Law the kind of stuff some of these farmers hand out to us. I’ve had to take rolls from ’em that looked like bundles of microbe cultures captured out of a Red Cross ambulance.’
“So, I goes to a livery stable and hires a buggy on my looks. I drove out to the Plunkett farm and hitched. There was a man sitting on the fronts steps of the house. He had on a white flannel suit, a diamond ring, golf cap and a pink ascot tie. ‘Summer boarder,’ says I to myself.
“‘I’d like to see Farmer Ezra Plunkett,’ says I to him.
“‘You see him,’ says he. ‘What seems to be on your mind?’
“I never answered a word. I stood still, repeating
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