American Farmers: Facing a Cutoff at the Start

Chapter 99 Selling the Knife

Upon hearing the numbers Lina mentioned, Fett's interest waned considerably.

It's a pity I reported it a little too early.

If I waited until I was more developed and had more money in my pocket, maybe I could still try my luck, but don't even think about it now.

Lina noticed the change in Fett's eyes and was about to speak when her phone rang in her pocket.

She took out her phone and glanced at it; it was a call from a colleague.

The people over there have already packed up their tools and are ready to leave.

"I'm still at work, I have to go back with them."

Lina put away her phone, smiled at Fett, and straightened her coat. "There's no rush. The auction is still a while away. We can talk about it in detail later."

"Okay, take care." Fett saw her to the door.

After Lina left, Fett turned around and went back to the garage to start a fire.

Before the coal stove was burning too brightly, Fett pinned the order forms to the wooden wall in front of the workbench with thumbtacks.

I need to finish making two knives that customers ordered today.

One is a deer-skinning knife. The client is a hunter and requires the knife to be short, compact, and extremely sharp.

Fett chose a piece of high-carbon steel and deliberately hammered the blade to make it wide and rounded during forging, so that the curve would not easily puncture the flesh when peeling.

He carefully adjusted the thickness of the blade with a small hammer, striving to make the cutting feel smoother while maintaining its strength.

The other one is a heavy-duty machete; the customer is an outdoor enthusiast who frequently camps.

Fett chose thick spring steel plates, which are tough and durable.

He grabbed the sledgehammer, stretched one end of the steel plate, and forged it into a blade with a recurve, shifting the center of gravity forward so that it would be more powerful when chopping.

Just as they were busy, old Frank walked in with his hands behind his back.

He had just seen off a group of customers who wanted to buy trees; his face was covered in sweat, and his trousers were splattered with mud.

Are you busy?

Old Frank watched for a while, then pointed to a few half-finished products piled up in the corner, "Those are the knife blanks I made a while ago, but I haven't had time to attach the handles."

"Now that you've mastered the craft, why don't you pack those up and sell them together?"

"It'll just rust if you leave it there."

"Okay." Fett picked up the red-hot blade of the machete and readily agreed. "I'll install it after I finish this one."

Old Frank nodded, turned to leave, but then turned back at the door, gripping the doorframe, and said, "Fett, what do you think about us getting another dog?"

"Buddy has been dead for over two years, and I know you were attached to him."

"But so much time has passed, it should be over by now."

The image of a golden retriever popped into Fett's mind.

That was brought back from town by old Frank when the original owner was five years old.

Buddy was only this big back then, all furry, and he followed him around all day.

They chased chickens and bullied cows together, and rolled around in haystacks together. Buddy accompanied him throughout his childhood.

Later, Fett went to study in another city and only came back during holidays.

That summer, old Frank was busy repairing the barn and didn't notice Buddy running out of the yard.

The old dog was over ten years old, hard of hearing, and not very agile. It was hit by a passing pickup truck on the highway.

When Fett rushed back, he only saw a small mound of earth buried on the backyard slope.

Back then, the original owner was young and impetuous, and he turned all his sadness into anger, yelling at old Frank and blaming him for not keeping a close eye on Buddy.

Old Frank didn't argue; he just silently smoked.

Since then, no dogs have ever been seen on the farm again.

"These days it's been DEA and banks, it's making me feel uneasy."

As he spoke, old Frank walked over to the pile of knife blanks.

Old Frank scratched his somewhat graying hair and sighed, "I didn't realize it before, but now when I think about how Johnny's family used to grow marijuana, and how those drug dealers might still be hanging around nearby, I can't sleep peacefully at night without a living creature to guard the house."

He paused, fiddling with the knife blanks in his hands, his voice lowering, carrying a hint of barely perceptible melancholy: "Besides, you'll be going back to school after Christmas."

"Your mother is gone too, and I'm just an old man left at home with those cows that only moo and bellow. I don't even have any company."

"Your Uncle Harrison just called me."

"You remember him, right? His son's name is Luca. You two used to play together when you were little."

Old Frank put down what he was holding, leaned against the wall with one hand, and a glimmer of anticipation flashed in his eyes. "He said his Australian Cattle Dog just had a litter of puppies, and they're almost a month old."

He asked me if I wanted one and told me to go get one.

Fett felt a pang of sadness when he saw the probing look in old Frank's eyes.

This stubborn old man had always wanted to get another dog, but he kept quiet about it out of consideration for his feelings.

"Dad, I was immature before, please don't take it to heart."

"Of course we can get a dog," Fett said with a smile, putting down the pliers. "I'll go with you to pick one out; it has to be the smartest one."

"Okay!" Old Frank smiled, his wrinkles smoothing out. "Then I'll tell him."

A car horn sounded in the courtyard; more guests had arrived.

"Coming!" Old Frank responded and walked out with light steps.

Fett spent most of the day working in the garage, finally finishing the peeling knife and machete ordered by the customer. He also took the opportunity to attach hickory wood handles to Old Frank's knife blanks and polish them to a glossy shine.

As I stepped out of the garage, the sun was already setting, but it wasn't too late yet.

Fett carefully wrapped the new knives and stuffed them into his canvas bag.

The knife ordered by the customer needs to be shipped from the post office in town. As long as the knife is properly packaged, USPS can ship it.

As for the blank knives with handles already attached, I might as well take them to Miller Knives Shop on the way and see if I can exchange them for some cash.

As for the five exquisite swords used to register for the "Sword Forging Competition," Fett has no plans to sell them for the time being.

Fett picked up the car keys, while old Frank was squatting on the porch cleaning the mud off his shoes.

Seeing Fett about to leave, the old man stood up, dusted off his hands, and asked, "Going to town?"

"Yeah, send the knives to the pre-ordered customers, and sell the ones you forged while you're at it." Fett shook the bag in his hand.

"Go ahead, drive carefully. On your way back, stop by the supermarket and buy some food; we're running low on supplies at home." Old Frank waved his hand. "It's inconvenient for you to not have a decent car these days."

"I'll go to the used car market sometime when I have time, see if there's anything suitable, and buy one to drive for now."

"Understood, we'll discuss it once the payment for these knives arrives." Fetra opened the car door and started the engine.

Upon arriving at the town's post office, Fett filled out a form and insured the knife for an additional fee.

After shipping the knife, he booked a pickup service for the welding machine from the single mother in Little Rock the next day. He estimated the shipping and insurance costs to be around $65.

Dollar.

After finishing his errands, Fett drove to the entrance of Miller Knives store.

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