He looked at the thirteen-year-old.
“Right now.”
The boy looked toward his father.
His father did not answer for him.
That surprised him.
The retired dealer stood nearby.
Also silent.
The parts broker smiled.
“You paid four seventy-two.”
“That's fifteen hundred profit before lunch.”
The boy thought.
The man's offer sounded enormous.
Two thousand dollars.
His father had recently postponed replacing the grain auger because they did not have enough cash before harvest.
Two thousand could repair it.
Maybe more.
The broker reached into his jacket.
Pulled out a thick wallet.
Started counting hundreds.
The sight of actual money was different from a number spoken aloud.
One.
Two.
Three.
The boy swallowed.
Four.
Five.
His father watched him.
Six.
Seven.
The retired dealer finally said:
“Ask him one question.”
The broker stopped counting.
“What?”
The boy looked toward the dealer.
“What question?”
“Ask why he's willing to give you two thousand after looking at the crates for less than five minutes.”
The broker frowned.
“Oh, come on.”
The boy turned back.
“Why?”
The broker smiled.
“Because I take risk.”
“What risk?”
“That half those things are junk.”
The boy looked toward the crates.
“Then why not wait until I count them?”
The broker’s smile weakened.
“Because I have trucks here now.”
The boy looked toward his father.
Then the retired dealer.
Then the stack of cash.
He felt thirteen again.
Very thirteen.
Everyone around him was older.
More experienced.
More confident.
He wanted one adult to tell him exactly what to do.
His father seemed to understand.
He stepped closer.
“You want my advice?”
“Yes.”
“Don't make a decision because everybody is watching.”
The boy exhaled.
The father nodded toward the broker.
“If that offer is fair today, he can make it tomorrow.”
The broker shook his head.
“No.”
“Today only.”
The father looked toward his son.
“There’s your answer.”
The boy understood.
He faced the broker.
“No.”
The man laughed once.
“You're turning down two grand?”
“For today.”
The broker put the money away.
“Kid, rust doesn't appreciate sitting in a barn.”
The boy said:
“Then you shouldn't mind waiting.”
Several farmers laughed.
The broker did not.
He walked away.
The father watched him.
Then looked toward his son.
“That was either very smart or we're both going to hate ourselves tonight.”
The boy smiled nervously.
“I know.”
The retired dealer said:
“You're learning.”
They drove home with almost nine hundred pounds of old iron.
The pickup groaned.