"Tom Easton - The Bung Hole Caper" - читать интересную книгу автора (Easton Thomas A)

Barger held out a piece of paper. "Here's the order," he said. "Fifteen hundred dollars apiece, as long as
you meet the specifications. We pay you, and they'll pay us."

Cyrus whistled again. He took the paper, unfolded it against its crisp resistance, and read. "Ayuh." He
turned to look at Allie. She showed nothing but approval in her face. And they could surely use the
money. "I suppose I might," he said. "But why me?"

"She insisted."

And that was that. Or almost that. Cyrus took the order, though at first he felt a little as he guessed a
Navajo must feel, selling pots and blankets to jet-borne tourists. But he soon realized that it wasn't _his_
heritage he was selling. He was more like a Hong Kong Chinaman making colonial trivets for
Williamsburg shops.

Not that he minded, except for one thing. He was fast growing rich, he was honing long-forgotten skills,
he was indulging a love for different woods and finishes, but he never seemed to have the time to make a
barrel for himself. He still had to harden his cider in those damned plastic jugs.

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