WHITE MULE

WHITE MULE
R. D. ICE

"Fred Frye, you old son-of-a-gun! What are you doing in these parts!"

"Carl Norris! We sure miss you since you retired. The office has never been the same. I came to ask your help with a problem."

"Well, now, Fred, let's go look at my garden. We can talk about your problem later."

"All right, Carl, lead the way."

They walked around the house to the garden.

"Just look at these tomatoes! Did you ever see anything so pretty. And this corn, it's Indian Corn, you know, with the different color kernels. And squash. Just look at that pumpkin, did you ever see one so big. It will be a prize winner at the Fair."

This went on for some time. Finally Carl led the way as they walked back into the house.

"Now, Fred, let's look at your problem."

Fred whipped out some papers and spread them out on the table. Carl came over and examined them. He took out a pen and wrote some notes on the papers.

"Here you go. Look right here, and here. The McClouskey Brothers have what you need. It will fall into place easily."

"Thanks, Carl! You are a lifesaver! Sure you won't come back to the office and take your old job back?"

"Never! I intend to stay right here and grow tomatoes and corn. Just look at those beautiful fields! I'm having the time of my life. No problems. No phone calls. No deadlines. I've got it all and I intend to keep it."

When Fred got back, he told of his experience. "He'll be happy to help you. Just go look at his garden."

Gilbert Foster was the mayor of the little town near where Fred now lived. He had a problem. He took his dilemma to Carl Norris, whom he had heard was a whiz at problem solving.

"Carl, I need your help. I have this problem..."

"Mayor, come look at my garden," Carl said. Then he led the way.

"Gil, did you ever see such squash and pumpkins? And okra and blackeyed peas. Isn't this a beautiful garden!"

"Humph," said the mayor. "It'll do. I see you did put your rows north and south like you should. But you don't have your tomatoes tied up with green string. That white string will never do. And you ought to get you a white mule to work the ground with. Not a tractor, but a mule, and it has to be white. Then you'll really have a garden to make you proud."

After the mayor had left, Carl scratched his head and thought to himself. "A white mule? Would that really help? Naw! No way! Where could I find one?"

He picked up the local newspaper and searched the items for sale. No mule. He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. He got up and paced the floor a while. Then he got in his car and drove down the road.

He drove through the countryside, up this road and down that one. Finally he spotted a white mule over in a field. He backed up and turned in the driveway.

"Hello," he said. "Do you want to sell that white mule?"

"No!" said the farmer. "Me and that mule are going to grow old together. I wouldn't sell him, no way!"

"Give you a hundred dollars for him."

"No way!" said the farmer.

"A hundred fifty?"

"No way!"

"Two hundred."

"Sold!" said the farmer.

Carl took out his wallet and counted two hundred dollars into the farmer's hand. "I don't have my truck with me," he said. "I'll come back tomorrow to get him." With that he drove off.

The next day he drove out to get the mule.

"Mister Carl, I'm really sorry. I don't know what to tell you. But that mule is dead. I can't give your money back. I went into town last night and spent it all, every cent of it. I don't have a penny left."

"Never mind. Just help me load the mule into the truck."

Two weeks later Mayor Foster came up to Carl in the store.

"Carl, what about that white mule? Did you ever find one?"

"Yes, I did find one, and I bought him. But that mule died before I could get him home."

"Died, you say? Before you got him home? That's tough. What did you do about that?"

"Why, I sold chances on him. I visited around and sold a hundred chances at ten dollars apiece."

"Bet you had a lot of unhappy people when they found out the mule was dead."

"Just one. And I gave him his money back."