“How much?”
“Four hundred seventy-two.”
The farmer removed his cap.
Ran one hand through flattened brown hair.
Put the cap back on.
Then removed it again.
“That was almost everything.”
“I know.”
“You worked three months.”
“I know.”
“I thought you were saving for that feeder calf.”
“I was.”
His father looked toward the auction barn.
Men were gathered around the crates.
“What are they doing?”
The boy's voice changed slightly.
“Looking.”
“At your scrap?”
“It might not be scrap.”
His father looked back.
“What does that mean?”
The retired implement dealer approached.
“Means your boy may have bought something worth knowing about before you decide how mad to get.”
The farmer recognized him.
“You serious?”
“I am.”
The retired dealer explained.
The father listened.
Never interrupted.
His expression remained skeptical.
When the dealer finished, the farmer asked:
“How much?”
“I told him I don't know.”
The farmer looked relieved.
“Then nobody knows.”
“Correct.”
“So don't start telling my son he's rich.”
“I didn't.”
The dealer nodded toward the boy.
“I told him to count.”
The farmer looked toward his son.
That word again.
Count.
The father’s shoulders relaxed slightly.
“Good.”
Then he pointed toward the crates.
“You paid for them?”
“Yes.”
“Cash?”
“Yes.”
“Bid slip?”
The boy held it up.
His father had signed the junior bidder authorization that morning.
The father examined it.
Lot eighty-seven.
Paid.
Sale final.
He sighed.
“Then I guess they're ours to carry.”
The boy corrected him quietly.
“Mine.”
His father looked at him.
The retired dealer hid a smile.
The boy immediately became nervous.
“I mean…”
His father held up one hand.
“No.”
“You're right.”
“They're yours.”
Then:
“And you're loading every one.”
The boy grinned.
“That seems fair.”
It took forty minutes.
The crates were heavier than they looked.
Two auction workers helped with a forklift while the father backed their aging farm pickup beside the loading area.
One crate filled most of the bed.
The other two had to go onto a small livestock trailer after the father removed a divider.
Farmers kept approaching.
“Sell me the corn plates.”
“I'll give you fifteen apiece.”
“Take fifteen hundred for all of it.”
“Two thousand.”
That last number made the father turn.
A heavyset man in a clean tan jacket stood near the trailer.
He owned a regional used-parts business.
Everybody knew him.
He bought farm equipment cheap, stripped valuable pieces, then resold across three states.
“Two thousand cash.”