The energetic efforts of the dominating member of the Board Committee to close a deal for the sale of that old canning factory building had, unwittingly of course, also paved the way for the entry of some live competition for himself. Mr. Abbott became my best advertiser. Legitimate, too. He paid, in trade, three to five cents a bushel premium for ear-corn, and turned it to me at the market price. Also, there was a general come-down of prices in the other stores. Now was I, or was I not, working for the best interests of the town? Evidently Mr. Reckeway had a threefold purpose in bidding up the price of corn. He wanted to build up a reputation, wanted to crush competition, and at the same time discourage the Greenleaf-Baker people in their plans to build an elevator here. The word got around that I was going to try to operate the Worthy dump “as is.” It would have not been fruitful for them to let Reckeway know the truth at this stage of their dickerings—hence the circulated report that I had bought the Worthy dump, aiming to operate it myself. Nor did Mr. Reckeway know that the order for the lumber in special lengths had been given to a mill in Arkansas the day after I had bought the Worthy dump, when he betook himself to Atchison in an effort to dissuade the Greenleaf-Baker firm from building, pointing out that he had the grain business corralled here; that I was now a “dead duck,” without standing in my own community. Mr. Baker was not impressed by Mr. R.’s pleadings. Mr. Reckeway had been shrewd enough — or lucky enough—to sell, in early fall, a sizable quantity of December corn at a price above the settled market. He had been sloughing off his profits to the farmers to create atmosphere—and to stop me. Many of his old Goff customers were now bringing their corn to him in Wetmore, a high testimonial of his popularity—and a welcome morsel for the aggressive half of the BT Committee to peddle in support of their earlier expressed contention that an elevator man could actually pay more for corn—even, so to speak, pull rabbits out of a hat. Had Mr. Reckeway made it win, it would have been good business. As it was, I’m not shrewd enough to say whether it was good business or bad business. The one certainty is that he did not make the goal he was shooting for. Owing to delay in getting the lumber, the Baker elevator did not open for business until January 5. Reckeway had now quit playing for atmosphere. Then, we both got more corn than we could conveniently handle, as a car shortage had developed, which slowed down shipments. We had a little bad luck the very first day the Baker elevator was opened for business. We were getting corn from three shelters, about 4,000 bushels that day—and some of the wagons came in after dark. Elmer Brockman, the builder, was looking after the elevator end of the first day’s run. I weighed a wagon, told the driver to wait for Elmer to signal him in with his lantern.