"I never eat them," he said. "It's grain that I want. And I'll buy as
much as you care to sell.... Bring a sample of it up here," he urged.
"I'd like to see if it's as good as people say."

So Sandy Chipmunk darted into his house. And soon he appeared again with
his cheek-pouches crammed full of wheat kernels.

"There!" he cried, when he had dropped the grain in front of Uncle Sammy.
"Just try a little of it! You'll agree with me that it's very fine."

Uncle Sammy not only tried a little. He gobbled up every single kernel.

"It seems to me to have a queer taste," he said. "Bring up some more!"

And Sandy scurried down into his house again, to bob up in a few moments
with another sample of his grain.

Once more Uncle Sammy ate it all.

"It's a bit damp," he remarked, as he smacked his lips. "I hope it's not
moldy.... You'd better let me see another sample."

Uncle Sammy declared the next heap of kernels to be altogether too dry.
And he kept ordering Sandy to fetch more for him to "taste," as he called
it. Some of the wheat he considered too ripe, and some too green. Some of
the kernels--so he said--were too little, and others too big. And finally
he even told Sandy Chipmunk that he was afraid Sandy was trying to sell
him _last year's_ wheat.