They talked for nearly two hours. Leonard said some of his clients liked furniture with a documented history, especially when the unusual appearance came from a process that could be explained rather than a stain applied yesterday. The oak carried that history in its grain, though it would still need careful construction and finishing to become a reliable piece. Earl had never thought of a story as part of what a buyer purchased.
"I'd take twelve barrel equivalents of your best material," Leonard said. "Ninety-five dollars apiece. You can leave the usable hoops with the sets, and I'll do the final milling at my shop." Earl kept his expression steady while the numbers moved through his mind. Twelve at $95 meant $1,140, more than he had paid the bank for all 1,140 barrels.
He wanted to say yes to all twelve immediately. The mortgage could use the money, and the evidence of demand was sitting in front of him. But he heard his father's voice and remembered the ruined first table. There were still too many things he did not know about how the wood would behave after somebody else worked it.
"Take six," Earl said. Leonard's brow rose. "I offered to buy twelve." Earl nodded. "And I appreciate it. But I'd rather start with six and know you're satisfied than sell twice as much before I understand what you need."
Leonard stared at him for a moment, then smiled. "You drive a hard bargain by selling less than the customer wants." Earl almost smiled back. "Not much of a bargain if you never come again." They agreed on six selected, conditioned barrel-equivalent sets, marked by source and grade, for a total of $570.
Earl loaded the material carefully rather than sending Leonard out with six random barrels. The two men inspected every bundle, checked for splits, and counted the hoops and staves. Leonard gave him a handwritten receipt with the date, the grade description, and the amount paid. Earl copied the information into his notebook as soon as the cabinetmaker left.
That evening he placed the $570 on his kitchen table beside the original bill of sale. He looked at the two pieces of paper for a long time. One documented a purchase everyone had called foolish. The other documented a sale made by a person who knew what he was buying.
Earl made himself calculate the difference carefully. The $570 was revenue, not profit; he had transport expenses, drying costs, wear on equipment, and many hours of unpaid labor behind it. The six sets also represented a tiny fraction of the original stock. But the fact that somebody had paid real money for material he had once struggled to explain changed the way the farm felt that night.
He did not telephone Margaret to announce that he had solved all his problems. He told her instead that he had his first woodworking customer. She was pleased, then cautious. "How much did he buy?" "Six barrels' worth," Earl said.