Something had gone wrong, and Elmer had taken his lantern and stepped out of the driveway. Mr. farmer, after pulling up and stopping, decided that he didn’t need a lantern to guide him—and he drove on in and got one horse part way in the open dump. The horse lost patches of hair in two or three places, but was not otherwise injured. The next day the fellow came back and wanted to sell me the horse for $100. The old plug was worth only about $40. I didn’t want to buy the horse at any price, and I didn’t want the man to go away dissatisfied. And I suspicioned—correctly—that some of my competitor’s supporters might be back of the fellow. I suggested that I send Milt Cole, the liveryman, out to the farm to examine the horse—and that I would pay him whatever amount that the two of them might decide would be just. Mr. Cole said $40 would be a big plenty—and I paid it. Then, about a week later the farmer, pleased with his high-handed stroke of luck, had the nerve to tell me that I was an easy mark, that the horse was as good as ever, and that I had virtually thrown away forty dollars. Now, this man was on a farm owned by an Illinois man—a Mr. Smith, who had entrusted me with the rental of the place. The farmer had contracted to pay cash rent, with a clause in the contract stating that in case of drought, or for any cause lowering the normal yield, that a substantial reduction would be allowed. Mr. Smith was a firm believer in the old principle of “live and let live.” But he soon found out that it wouldn’t work so well here. And anyway, it was mostly his sister’s idea—she having an interest in the land. The tenant had asked for a reduction. Well, Mr. Smith came to my printing office one day, borrowed my shotgun, pulled on new overalls, and went out to his farm to hunt a bit. He found the tenant at the house, asked for and received permission to hunt. Mr. Smith said truthfully he had just got in from Minnesota, and casually asked about crops in general here. The tenant said they had been good, and he bragged a little about how well he himself had done that year. Mr. Smith’s sister lived in Minneapolis, and he had gone around that way to get her to yield a point on that stiff “live and let live” idea of hers—and to discuss plans for selling the farm. I sold it for them, later.