“Too much; too much,” came in a sort of petulant, disapproving voice.
“But the farmers won’t sell for any less.”
“Um.... What’s the Ashton Canning Company paying?”
“Ten-fifty.”
“Fools! They could buy for less.”
“The farmers aren’t dumb. They know our price is too low. And as a result a lot of them, I’ve been told, are planning to haul their corn over to Ashton. It’s only ten miles. And a difference of one-fifty a ton is a big item to them.”
A chair creaked; after which we heard footsteps going back and forth.
“I told you, Norman, when that Ashton plant was built that we’d suffer from it. If we don’t watch our steps they are going to seriously cut into our business.”
“Well,” came the grunt, “you won’t help matters any by cutting the price on the farmers. For they’re sore at us already.”
“Um ...” studied the crafty banker. “It might be wise for us to buy up this Ashton plant. That would give us control of the local bottom-land acreage. The farmers then would have to sell to us at our price. Otherwise they wouldn’t be able to sell at all unless they shipped. And the most of them are too dumb to attempt a thing like that.”