I’m not trying to “hand” myself a bouquet. The agreement cooked up by me was neither “air tight” nor “fool proof.” The Trustee had not a chance. The error was that I did not require the subscribers to include in their checks a sufficiency to take care of their rentals for the full life of the leases. True, there was the chance that rental payments might be legitimately discontinued before the expiration of the lease, as in case of production terminating the payments, or disposition of the lease. But it would have been a lot simpler and safer too for the Trustee to return the unearned portion of the lease money. Charley Cortner paid the Woodburns for writing a new draft of the agreement—and asked me, on the road home, for my charge. I told him, “No charge.” He thanked me kindly. He felt good of course—but I could see he had not yet got all he needed to allay a worry, the thing that had hit them so hard at the corn-house. Unauthorized, and unknown to me, in soliciting subscriptions, it seems, they had carried the impression, if not the promise, that I would be the Trustee—possibly demanded by some of the prospects. After miles of silence on the road, Charley said, “You know, I feel so good about this that I’m going to give you one unit; you can have it in cash, or in stock in the syndicate.” From the ultra pleased expression on his face when I said I would take it in stock, I’m sure he had been holding his breath awaiting my decision. True, I had not as yet agreed to accept the Trusteeship—in fact, I knew nothing about their plans—but I was now as good as in, and they could, at least, make a plausible showing at the called meeting in the City Hall the following night, when the vendor would appear in person to deliver the leases. Charley’s gift to me was acceptable grapes—equal to $4.50 a line, or 45 cents a word for the writing. I really wanted to get in, and would have subscribed for an interest, anyway—now that apparently a safe and workable organization would be formed. Well, Doctor Shaffer spent much of his time here in my home. He was agreeably pleased over Charley Cortner’s work, with my assistance in preparing the agreement—and said so in no unmistakable terms. He had a pleasant word for my wife, too. In an aside, I will say, that while in Moline on that inspection trip, I was troubled with a slight attack of appendicitis—which had been chronic with me for twenty years, and still is—and had gotten temporary relief from the Doctor. Dr. Shaffer now said that should I ever decide to have an operation, for me to come down to Moline, and bring my wife along, that she could stay in the hospital—all free of charge. This was by far the best offer I had ever had. First, I might say Dr. Sam Murbock, our old reliable, had said he could not tell me what his charge would be until he got into me. I told him that he would never get into me, or my pocket, without first naming his price.