During the process of his little crusade he had become acquainted with the conditions in the city of Marion and he knew that the Consolidated folks controlled the ice-supply as well as the water.  They held an iron grip by legislative charter on all the riparian rights along the river and allowed no one else to operate an ice-field.  He had seen and sniffed the unwholesome slime which a melted cake of Consolidated ice deposited.

When he found opportunity he accosted a man in corduroy.  He was a big chap, bronzed by the sun, and Farr singled him out as the manager because he had been directing the other workers while he toiled himself.

“It’s a little business of my own,” said the man.  “I have started in independent.”

“I had thought the Consolidated had control of everything.”

“They would control everything if they could.  They wouldn’t let me run my carts through the city streets if they knew how to stop me.  I worked for them fifteen years, lugging their dirty ice on my back, up stairs and down, and I know that crowd.  I don’t understand much of anything but the ice business, mister, whoever you are.  But I wouldn’t lug any more of that ice into homes.  I put my savings in here, every cent, hired these barns and a shore privilege, and I’m selling clean ice.  But I’m going to lose every blamed cent!  It’s no use.  I can’t buck ’em.  Excuse me!  It’s no interest to you.  My mouth runs away with me when I get talking about that gang.”

He went back to the barn to help his men shift a runway.

Farr waited patiently until he was able to speak to the busy man again.

“I don’t mean to bother you, sir,” he said, humbly.  “But I am interested in this proposition of yours.  I have worked for the Consolidated, myself.  I was discharged because I stood up and damned their water before the mayor and aldermen.”

“Say, I heard something about that!” cried the iceman, displaying prompt interest and admiration.  “The boys said it was good work.”

“I mention it merely to put myself right with you.”

“Then say on ahead, my friend!”

“Do you tell me you can’t make a go of this?”

“I’m afraid I can’t.  It’s a half-mile haul for me to the nearest siding.  The railroad folks don’t give me any better rate than they’re obliged to—­and you know why that is!  And I have to have another set of carts for the city delivery.  And no capital to work with!  I’m up against a crowd that has all the money, plenty of equipment, and has its supply right at the back door of the city—­and it belongs at the back door!  But you know what the buying public is!  The only reason why I have lasted is because my old customers gave me their business and are sticking pretty well.”

“My friend,” declared Farr, putting his hand on the shoulder bent and ridged by many years of ice-toting, “lots of men who are making money as missionaries are not doing half the good in the world you’re doing.  You’re certainly showing some of the citizens of Marion the difference between good ice and frozen gobs of pestilence.”