On the fifth morning after that shipment I got a telegram from Atchison telling me, much as a friend might ask a criminal to come in and give himself up, to go to the Josephine hotel in Holton that day and join the Grain Dealers Association.
Also, there was a circus billed for Holton that day.
I found Michael Worthy and Secretary E. J. Smiley at the hotel waiting for me. There was much stir about the hotel, as if a general meeting was in progress. Mr. Smiley told me that he and Mr. Worthy had a tentative contract drafted, and that I might take my girl to the circus—then I was to drop by the hotel and sign up for membership in the Association, which would cost me $12 a year, in quarterly payments. I was going to take my girl to the circus anyway. Harvey Lynn and Anna Bates, and Myrtle Mercer, were in the hotel parlor waiting for me. We had planned this even before I got that telegram. I had complimentary tickets, and we could not afford to miss the circus to parley over a contract. We four circus lovers had gone to Holton with a livery team, in an open spring wagon.
After the circus, Mr. Smiley asked me if I had any objections to the contract? I told him that inasmuch as I was being pushed in with scant knowledge of what it was all about, and that in deference to my friends in Atchison who were urging me to get in PDQ, that I would sign on the dotted line—and trust to luck. It seemed to be Mr. Worthy’s field day, and he would have had his own way, anyhow. It looked as if it might rain, and I did not want to waste time quibbling over the matter. If need be, I would gladly forego shipping altogether for the life of the contract—which was six months, with renewal privilege — rather than get my friends in trouble.
When I had signed the paper, Mr. Smiley shook his head, negatively, grinned, and said in undertone so that Michael couldn’t hear, “He’ll not want to renew it.” I pondered this for many days, and don’t know that I ever did hit upon the right solution. There certainly was nothing in the contract to alert me on that point. Had Mr. Smiley known what I had decided to do in the matter before I got home that day, he would have been justified in making that prediction.
Well, it rained. It rained “pitchforks.” And, in that open wagon, there were two mighty sloppy girls, and as many sloppy boys—and, to make matters worse, the creek was over the Netawaka bridge. Held up here, I took the opportunity to scrutinize the $3.00 package I had so recently purchased, practically “sight unseen,” and see what they had really done to me.
The contract gave Mr. Worthy two-thirds of the business, and I was to have the other third. If either of us got more than the allotted proportion, he must pay the other one cent a bushel for the excess. We would buy now at a price supplied us from day to day by an anonymous somebody having no permanent address. No matter where located, any member receiving house that we might choose, would confirm our sales. It was September, and the old corn was about all gone. Mr. Worthy had 1200 bushels contracted from Herb Wessel, and I had 3000 bushels coming in from Charley Hannah. By agreement, these lots were not to be counted on the contract.
Harvey Lynn was Assistant Cashier of the Wetmore State Bank, and should have been able to decipher any funny business—but he could see no just reason why Mr. Worthy should be given twice as much as me. Certainly not on account of that old dump.
Anna Bates said, “Why, that old dump, nobody would risk their horses on that rickety high driveway. I’ve heard lots of farmers say they wouldn’t.” Mr. and Mrs. O. Bates were operating the north side restaurant, and as waitress Anna had a good opportunity to hear the corn haulers express themselves.
Myrtle Mercer said, “I know what I’d do. You could let Mr. Worthy have it all, and then go down to his lumber office once a month, and collect. That would give you a third interest in his grain business—just for grapes. That ought to hold him.”