“Lord no,” he said, throwing up his hands. “The nice thing about this track buying is, when a fellow knows he’s licked, he can shoulder his scoop-shovel, go home and sleep soundly.”
But it was not so tough on Mr. Worthy as one might think. We had been buying on a one-cent margin. Now we — or more properly he — were working on a two-cent margin, and, barring shipping expenses and losses, he would still be making a cent profit on the third on which he would have to pay me one cent a bushel. It was just galling him — that’s all. He had the old-fashioned notion that one should labor for his money.
Mr. Worthy told me later that he had made the discovery of my billing at two o’clock that night after he had gone home from church. He laughed, saying he had made several futile nocturnal visits to that box before this time. It was luck more than perseverance that had rewarded him at that late hour. A freight train that would have picked up the loads, had it not already been loaded to capacity, passed through at 11 o’clock. Also, he said he had believed for awhile that I was selling my corn on the Kansas City market—and that when I would get enough of this that I would quit. Except on a sustained rising market, the dealer shipping to Kansas City could not compete successfully with the dealer who sold to the receiving houses, on advance bids. And that is how the Association was eliminating the track buyers.
I could not realize at first what tremendous advantage this lop-sided contract would give me. On the face of the contract—no. Decidedly the opposite. Nor was it out in the open for Michael to see. In fact, it was by way of developments mothered by that contract. The Association maintained a weighmaster at all member receiving houses, who would check on member-shipper’s receipts, at 35 cents a car, if desired; but it was not obligatory. Having had some rather unsatisfactory treatment from other houses, I had now found a place where I could depend on getting honest weights. I wrote F. M. Baker, telling him that while I hardly knew yet why the urgency, I had paid for a membership in the Association; and, as I had always had satisfactory weights from his firm, I desired him to disregard the Association weighmaster.
He wrote me, saying he deeply appreciated my statement of confidence in him; that he had been accused of all manner of uncomplimentary things—stated much stronger—and that if he could ever do me a favor, he would do it gladly. Thus was laid the foundation for a real helpful friendship—but, handicapped by that lop-sided contract, it did not come into being for another six months.
On the q~t, we belonged to the same poker club.
When I got a free hand, I also got the corn. We received bids from the purchasing houses every morning, good until 9:30 a.m. Corn bought after this time would be subject to the fluctuations of the day’s market, with a new bid the next morning. Though I hardly know how it got started, it became a fixed routine for the firm’s telegraph operator and buyer, George Wolf—now Executive Vice President of the Exchange National Bank, in Atchison—to call me up after the close of the market. If I had bought corn that day on the basis of the morning bid, and it had dropped a cent, or any amount, he would book it at the morning bid. And if it had gone up he would tell me to hold it for developments the next day. Sometimes the market would go up day after day, and I would not sell until there was a break; and then I would get the last top bid.
That was grapes—ripened on friendship’s vine.
I spent a pleasant hour with George Wolf in his private corner of the Exchange National, three years ago. We discussed old times. I believe George would now vouch for all I am saying here.
I went down to Atchison one afternoon, when corn had dropped a half cent. I had 3,000 bushels that I had bought from Jim Smith, and 10,000 bushels of the Ham Lynn corn which I had agreed to ship for his account, at $5 a car. The corn was several years old, and a portion of the big crib had been unroofed for one whole summer. The grade was doubtful. I did not want to buy it outright. There was a car shortage, too, and I wanted the shipment to take care of the grades as well as penalties, if any, in case the shipment was not completed within the 10-day time limit. Mr. Baker said he would take my 3,000 bushels at the morning bid, and Mr. Lynn’s 10,000 bushels at the present market (one-half cent less) if he would let it go at that. And in that case he would give me credit for the half cent, amounting to $50. He said, rather gruffly, “We don’t owe the farmer anything. There’s the phone. See what you can do with him.” Mr. Lynn accepted the new offer. And he was mighty glad that he did. By the time I got around to telling him all about the deal, corn had dropped several cents. If it had gone up, I don’t believe I would have ever told him. The Lynn shipment totaled 13,000 bushels, with only one car off grade.