"Don't you know I own this ground?" demanded Mr. Jamison, angrily. "Well, what if you do?" answered Ben. "You know I couldn't get a lease anywhere in the town, so I have come out here where I don't molest anybody." "But you molest me," was the rejoinder. "You molest my oats!" "Oh, well," said Ben, "I'll buy your oats, for that matter. And as I only want to stay here for three months, you'd better let me remain. The fact of it is, Mr. Jamison, you live here in Petrolia, own property, and do business. I have come here to live here also, and I am going to carry on my business as I see fit. This is an oil region, and it's all nonsense to talk about stopping the sale of liquor. It will be sold, of course. And I am going to sell it!" Mr. Jamison began to weaken under these arguments. Perhaps he did not consider it safe for his own welfare to arouse Ben's anger. He therefore adopted a pacifying tone. "Well, if you will agree not to keep your place open Sundays, you can stay," he said. Ben assured him that he would never sell any liquor on Sundays, as six days in the week were all he cared for. But it so happened on the first Sunday that a party of thirty men drove out for a day's sport, and out of sheer tender-heartedness Ben was obliged to open up the ballroom and furnish them with music. Of course they could not dance without liquor, and so he gave them that also. It was his tender-heartedness, you will observe, that was to blame for this. Among the amusing incidents which occurred at this time, I will relate one of an exceeding spicy nature: On a certain cold and drizzly day, a farmer's wagon drove up to the door, and the farmer, with his wife and daughter, entered Ben's place. He was entirely ignorant of its character, and about as verdant as they make them. While the wife and daughter made their way into the kitchen to dry their clothes by the fire, the farmer accosted Ben, saying: "Whose place is this, anyhow?" "Professor Hogan's," was the reply. "Well, now, I want to know!" ejaculated the farmer. "And you have some other kind of business, maybe?" "Oh, yes," answered Ben. "I am also engaged in the oil business. I've got fifteen pumping wells." "You don't say so!" returned the visitor. Meantime the mother and daughter, in the kitchen, were propounding conundrums to Lizzie Topley. Noticing the numerous young ladies sitting about the room, the old lady inquired what sort of a place it was. "This is a female college," said Lizzie, gravely. "A female college. Well, I do declare!" exclaimed the farmer's wife. "What an excellent idee to be sure. Here we've lived in the oil country all these years and never had a college before. Who is the professor?" "Hogan, his name is;" answered Lizzie--"Professor Hogan." "And what are the terms?" continued the old lady. "Fifty dollars a quarter!"