afternoon?"

"Uncle Joe drained the pond yesterday," replied Bob, smiling back at
them as he started for the express office.

A half hour later he walked into the bank and stepping up to the
cashier's window asked for the president.

"He's in a conference in the directors' room," replied the cashier.
"Are you Bob Williams?"

"Yes," he replied.

"Come this way," he said. "The president left word to have you shown
in as soon as you returned. Turtles seem to be biting pretty good this
weather," he laughed, as he conducted him to a small room in the rear
of the bank.

Bob had never had much to do with banks; indeed, he could count on the
fingers of one hand all the times he had ever been inside of one, and
as to a directors' private room, he did not even know there was such a
place, let alone ever having been in one. It was not to be wondered at
then that he was embarrassed when he entered the room a moment later
and saw the president and his friend seated in comfortable leather
chairs before a large mahogany table.

"Back already, Bob?" asked the banker. "I don't suppose you thought to
inquire how much the express charges will be on those turtles to
Pittsburgh?"