Ed Murray, agent at the depot, showed me a wire from the Orthwine people in East St. Louis, bidding Mike Worthy 18% cents. I had shipped some corn to the Orthwines. I wired them, offering 10,000 bushels at 18 3/4 cents, same as their bid to Mr. Worthy. Their reply was slow in coming, and I may say that when it did come, the market was off nearly five cents. I had told Albert that evidently the Orthwine people were waiting for the market to open—and that I was going to sell mine on the Board, and asked him if I should include his in my sale? He studied a moment, then said, “That would be gambling, wouldn’t it?” I said, “No—not when we have the corn to fill the contract. This will be protection against further loss. We gambled, Albert, when we bought the corn at the ridiculously low price of eleven to sixteen cents a bushel.” Albert said, “I don’t know about that. If it wasn’t for them weevil in the corn, I would hold it over until next year.” We had previously discussed this, and decided that it would not be advisable to hold it over. He finally said, “No, I’ll not go in with you. I never gamble.” And just think of it, the fellow was buying and shipping hogs—continuing in the business until his finances were “not what they used to be.” I sold 10,000 bushels anyway, on the Chicago Board — and cleaned up three cents a bushel by the time we sold our cribbed corn at 14 cents a bushel. “Them” weevil had us scared. But the damage was not enough to lower the grade beyond the number three contracted. In the old days, many of the farmers would shuck their corn early, pile it out in the open on a grass patch or rocky knoll, and then haul it to market after it had taken rains and snows—the more, seemingly, the better. More than once have I gone out to the country, and shoveled drifted snow away for lots bought on contract. It was such corn as this that brought the weevil, which worked mostly in the damp spots. Another trick of the old farmer was to wait for a freeze before shelling and marketing his ground “cribbed” corn. One such car of mine, billed for “export,” and passed by the Greenleaf-Baker firm—that is, not unloaded in Atchison, was reported steaming when it arrived in Galveston. It had passed inspection in Atchison.