We now had a new man in the depot. Agent Larkin was a fine Christian gentleman, an active church man. Also, he had a wife, and a pretty daughter who was a popular elocutionist—and a flock of 200 chickens. He did not impress me as a man who could be influenced or bought for a few kernels of corn. However, when he asked permission to scrape up the waste around the car we had just loaded, it gave me an idea. I was not expecting any favors from this agent — but I wanted to forestall the efforts of my competitor in demanding a division of cars on a comparable basis of his grand-elegant physical representation. When the boys would spill too little corn while loading the cars, I often climbed into the car and kicked out an extra bushel, sometimes more, before reporting the car ready for sealing—and of course I wouldn’t object to Agent Larkin gathering up the spilled corn, for his 200 chickens. I was getting an equal division of cars, and that was all I could reasonably expect—more, in fact, than seemed equitable to my competitor, with his investment in an owned elevator and his shrewdly acquired control of the Greenleaf-Baker elevator. The idea that an elevator operator could pay more for corn than the track buyer was all wrong. An elevator is a convenience to the shipper, and helpful to a community — but don’t forget for one moment that the grain producer must pay for it all. When track buying, I usually kept two men at the car, one inside the car and one to help the haulers shovel off their loads. I paid them 15 cents an hour. Tom and Juber Gibbons were horses to work then—but don’t look at ‘em now! And in long hauls, I would take the drivers to dinner at the Wetmore hotel, and feed their teams at Cole’s livery barn. The haulers, who were the seller’s neighbors, would complain about having to shovel the corn—but they, in turn, would bring me their corn for these extra helps, and extra money. One farmer who sold me 3,000 bushels said, “My neighbors will kick like the devil about having to shovel off their loads—but I reckon I kicked too when I shoveled off my loads when I was hauling for them.” On the basis of those magnificent holdings, Mr. Reckeway took his troubles to the higher-ups. Agent Larkin called me to the depot. Reckeway was there with a special representative of the railroad — the “trouble shooter.” Reckeway told his side of the story—very correctly, I must say. He owned outright an elevator, and he had control of the Greenleaf-Baker elevator as well — and that firm was getting all his shipments. And, as a clincher, he said, “You know the Greenleaf-Baker people are heavy shippers over your railroad. They have elevators all along the Central Branch.” The special agent then asked me: “Have you any storage for grain?” “Yes,” I replied, “a bin with capacity for two car loads of shelled corn.” His next question: “Did you ever have to pay demurrage for holding a car over-time while loading?” Again I replied, “Never.”