on from a bed on the
grass.

But the dissension a quarter will cause! A battle royal was once
produced by a dollar. They had all assisted, but, like the workers
in the vineyard, some had come early and some late. The
automobile, in trying to turn on a narrow road, had dropped off
the side into low wet ground; the early comers could not quite get
it back, but with the aid of the later it was done; the division
of a dollar left behind raised the old, old problem. Unhappily, it
fell into the hands of a late comer for distribution, and it was
his contention that the final lift did the work, that all previous
effort was so much wasted energy; the early comers contended that
the reward should be in proportion to expenditure of time and
muscle and not measured by actual achievement,--a discussion not
without force on both sides, but cut short by a scrimmage
involving far more force than the discussion. All of which goes to
show the disturbing influence of money, for in all truth those who
had assisted did not expect any reward; they first laughed to see
the machine in the ditch, and then turned to like tigers to get it
out.

This whole question of paying for services in connection with
automobiling is as interesting as it is new. The people are not
adjusted to the strange vehicle. A man with a white elephant could
probably travel from New York to San Francisco without disbursing
a penny for the keeping of his animal. Farmers and even liverymen
would keep and feed it on the way without charge. It is a good
deal so with an automobile; it is still sufficiently a curiosity
to command respect and attention. The farmer is glad to have it
stop in front of his door or put up in his shed; he will supply it
with oil and water. The blacksmith would rather have it stop at
his shop for repair than at his rival's,--it gives him a little
notoriety, something to talk about. So it is with the liveryman at
night; he is, as a rule, only too glad to have the novelty under
his roof, and takes pride in showing it to the visiting townsfolk.
They do not know what to charge, and therefore charge nothing. It
is often with difficulty anything can be forced upon them; they
are quite averse to accepting gratuities; meanwhile, the farmer,
whose horse and cart have taken up far less room and caused far
less trouble, pays the fixed charge.

These conditions prevail only in localities where automobiles are
seen infrequently. Along the highways where the