"I have no doubt you can be accommodated," replied the farmer.

"That is exceedingly low for wheat. If it wasn't for having a week's
sport among your wild-turkeys, and the hope of being able to kill a
deer, I'd stop and buy up a lot of wheat on speculation."

"I'll sell you five hundred bushels at ninety-two," said the farmer,
half-hoping that this green customer might be tempted to buy at this
advance upon the regular rate.

"Will you?" interrogated the stranger.

"Yes."

"I'm half-tempted to take you up. I really believe I--no!--I must
knock over some wild-turkeys first. It won't do to come this far
without bagging rarer game than wheat. I believe I must decline,
friend."

"What would you say to ninety-one?" The farmer had heard a rumour, a
day or two before, of a fall of two or three cents in wheat, and if
he could get off five hundred bushels upon this sportsman, who had
let the breast of his coat fly open far enough to give a glimpse of
a large, thick pocketbook, at ninety-one, it would be quite a
desirable operation.

"Ninety-one--ninety-one," said the stranger, to himself. "That is a
temptation! I can turn a penny on that. But the wild-turkeys; I must
have a crack at a wild-turkey or a deer. I think, friend," he added,