A little after nine o'clock the following morning, John White,
president of the First National Bank, and his friend, Alfred Dow,
superintendent of agencies of the Farmers' Mutual Life Insurance
Company, of New York City, walked up Sixth Avenue from the banker's
home and turned into Philadelphia Street. They were engaged in earnest
conversation and had reached the bank before they noticed a farm wagon
with a boy perched on the driver's seat, standing near the curb.

"Where do you want me to deliver your turtles, Mr. White?" called the
boy, and the men turned to look at the speaker.

"Why, hello, Bob!" exclaimed the banker. "Did you get me a turtle
already?" Then turning to his friend, he remarked, "I can now give you
that promised turtle dinner, Al. How many did you catch, Bob?" he
asked, coming over to the wagon.

"Sixty-three," replied Bob, "but I kept one for myself."

"What's that you're saying?" asked the astonished banker. "Sixty-three
turtles for me?"

"No, only sixty-two for you, Mr. White; I kept one for myself,"
replied Bob smiling.

"But, Bob, what would I do with sixty-two turtles? I couldn't eat that
many in ten years." "Well, you didn't say you'd eat them," said Bob
continuing to smile. "You only said you'd pay fifty cents each for all
I could catch and bring to you."

"That's right, Bob; he did say that," interrupted Mr. Dow, enjoying