Chapter 894: The Gentleman's Mercy and Unreasonableness

The next morning, Lance arrived in an armored car at the place the drivers had mentioned. The ground here was indeed full of potholes.

And from the edges of the potholes, it was clear they had been made recently.

Some potholes were a foot deep or even deeper, one after another.

There were already many children and some adults gathered around.

The children were simple, just carrying a cloth bag, while the adults had brought simple, homemade dustpans and brooms.

Obviously, they were here for the spilled wheat grains.

At first, the people were a little in awe of Lance's car, but when the trucks appeared on time, they forgot all about Lance and his strange vehicle.

The drivers had already slowed down as much as possible, but for a large truck carrying several tons, just one jolt would shake some wheat loose or spill it from the top.

Lance could see very clearly that with every jolt, the corresponding tires were subjected to a squeezing force.

Although he wasn't a professional mechanic, he knew that constantly accumulating this kind of force would certainly cause the truck's parts to suffer fatigue and eventually break down.

Whenever wheat spilled, the people would swarm together.

The children would squat on the ground and grab it with their hands. No matter how much, a small handful or just a few grains, they would grab it and stuff it into the cloth bags at their waists.

As for the older adults, they would use brooms to quickly sweep the wheat grains, along with the dust, into their dustpans, and then pour it into their backpacks.

One truck followed another, and the drivers had to constantly change their path to get through, in order to avoid the people in front scrambling for the wheat on the ground.

Even if only a small amount of wheat, three to five pounds, spilled from each truck, after dozens of trips a day, it was not a small number, not a small amount.

In truth, this little bit was nothing to Lance. He was making money in the tens of thousands every day. Even if all the spilled wheat here was added up, it wouldn't even be a ton lost in a day.

And even if a ton was lost, it was only thirty-something dollars.

He didn't make a sound, just watched quietly, thinking of a countermeasure in his mind.

If Hiram were here, he would definitely be clamoring to mow down all these sons of bitches.

Lance hadn't brought Hiram with him this time. Hiram was still in Indeno State, helping Elvin to continue expanding the business.

The Gold Label Distillery's factory had been set on fire. President Richard was already in a state of madness, like a wild dog, biting whomever he caught.

And they also controlled some gangs. To prevent them from going completely crazy under their huge losses and attacking the headquarters in New Birmingham without regard for the consequences, Hiram, this combat fanatic, had been left there by Lance.

The people he had brought were all Mador's men, all of whom had received military training.

He had thought that without Hiram, no one else would say such things, but he hadn't expected Mador to have learned bad habits too.

"Boss, should we teach them a lesson?"

Lance didn't answer him with a "yes" or "no," but instead asked, "How are you planning to teach them a lesson?"

This question made Mador unable to answer. "Maybe... I'll arrange for someone to beat them up?"

"And then?" Lance asked. "What if they do it again the next day?"

"Beat them up again?"

"You can't keep beating them. The method of beating them up once is actually not very good."

Lance was also a bit troubled. If he called the police, there was a high probability that the police would just come, take a look, and leave. The stuff had spilled from the truck, and the driver didn't stop to pick up the fallen wheat, which meant he didn't want it.

The police wouldn't arrest these people. At most, they would scold them a few times and then leave.

As for catching the people who were damaging the ground at night?

This method was actually also useless. These people had already had a taste of sweetness. Even if some of them were held down and arrested by the police, others would still do it.

For Lance, losing a few hundred pounds of wheat every day was insignificant, but for these poor people, they might be able to eat a little better.

And the most crucial point was that now was the time to establish a good image for the Federation.

After watching for a while, Lance had made a decision.

In the evening, someone had brought workers over to fill in the potholes on the ground. Many pairs of eyes were watching them, just watching quietly.

But what was surprising was that after the workers had leveled the uneven ground, they did not leave immediately, but had stayed here, which had made some people become impatient.

In the past few days, some of them had already gotten several pounds of wheat. For the people of Rapa, who couldn't get enough to eat, it was like a festival.

Not everyone liked to eat the food made from starch obtained through special processing. People, compared to those unpalatable things, actually wanted to eat wheat and wheat products more.

The thought that if these workers didn't leave, it would be very difficult for them to take advantage as they had in the past few days, made these people feel very uncomfortable.

In the morning, before the trucks arrived, some more people had come.

There were locals, and also people from the Federation.

They had also placed a table on the side of the road. Two of the Rapa locals had swaggered over and were standing behind the table.

They were hitting the table with the sticks in their hands, making a "banging" sound.

The sound soon attracted the people around who were waiting to take advantage.

"Come over, all of you. The respected Gentleman Lance has a message for me to pass on to you mud-legged dogs!"

The people around, including the children, looked at each other, and in the end, they had gathered over.

They wanted to hear what this "Gentleman Lance" behind this person had to say.

When the people around had gathered, one of the locals said loudly, "Gentleman Lance can't stand to see you mud-legged dogs like this all day. You have damaged the ground, which may damage his car."

"One of those trucks can buy the heads of your whole family!"

"However, the merciful Gentleman Lance pities your poverty, so he is distributing relief grain here every day."

"Everyone can put their hand into the grain bag and grab a handful. How much you grab is up to your ability, but each person can only grab once."

"Three hundred pounds of wheat grains a day, until it's all gone."

"If anyone damages the road again, not only will there be no more grain, but the trucks will also not come this way."

As soon as he had finished speaking, he had someone throw five bags of grain down from the car.

Looking at the large, 100-pound grain bags, everyone became agitated.

A handful, how much is a handful?

They had no concept.

The crowd began to squeeze in, but fortunately, there were still people at the scene with clubs to maintain order. Soon everyone began to queue up in an orderly manner.

The children go first. This was a rule set by Lance.

The adults had no objection. A child's hand is so small, how much could they take?

The children were excitedly queuing up. The first child had grabbed a large handful, but when it was placed in a small plate on the table, it was actually not much.

He looked a little dejected, but he also knew that everyone only had one chance.

This had made many people feel that it was fun, novel, and they had all begun to queue up.

Not long after, the large trucks passed by here. There was no more bumpy ground. The drivers breathed a sigh of relief.

They had had many guesses, including whether Lance would kill a few people here and then hang them up, but now it seemed that Mr. Lance was still kind-hearted.

Roger had also asked Lance this question. He had heard about this last night, and then he had learned of Lance's approach.

"Why not give them some punishment, but on the contrary, give them a kind of a reward?" He didn't quite understand.

Lance stood in front of the French window and looked at this poor capital. "Before you went to the Federation, what was your impression of the Federation?"

An unrelated question, but this question had made Roger fall into memory and thought.

"At that time... they told me that the Federation was a very polite and civilized country."

"Even if you don't close your windows, or your door, no thief will come to your residence."

"People are polite, know shame and morality, and the ground is full of money."

"The deepest story in my memory is about a group of old cowboys who had found a gold mine in a western river and had become rich."

"In my impression, it seems that whatever a federal person does, they will succeed."

He said with some emotion. This was his deepest impression of the Federation in that era.

He had never been to the Federation. Everything was what he had heard from the people around him, or what was said in the newspapers.

Lance looked down at the city under his feet. "The illiteracy rate here is higher, and ordinary people won't buy any newspapers. They don't know us."

"This is a propaganda channel. The federal people have a golden virtue, and they will eventually spread it."

"And at the most critical moment, they will take us as their hope of survival."

"We don't have to be fussy with them on such a small matter. Even if we have controlled these people today, how do you know that a part of them will not hold a grudge against our actions?"

"The opponent we really have to face is the ruling class of this country, not the very bottom of this society."

He paused for a moment as he spoke. "How much grain has been transported?"

Roger came back to his senses. "Already more than half."

Lance nodded noncommittally. "Let the others also begin."

On his side, it wasn't just them who were directly buying grain from the Rapa government. There were also many people who had already entered the various cities of Rapa, and were buying all kinds of grain from the hands of the local people at a higher price.

Those merchants, in groups of three and five, were on horseback, buying grain on the streets of the city!

In November, the weather was gradually starting to get cooler. Of course, as a tropical region, the temperature here was still about seventeen or eighteen degrees, which was the most pleasant time.

Pedro, on his way from home to school, had seen those merchants.

They were standing outside a grain store, weighing the grain in two bags with a scale.

He stood on the side and watched for a while. Then these foreigners had paid with a two-dollar bill and a one-dollar bill, a fifty-cent coin, and some other coins, and had left with the food.

What they had paid with was Federal Sols. Pedro had seen this money.

He walked over with some curiosity. "What did you sell them?"

The shop owner happily put the money in his hand into his pocket. "Wheat and wheat flour. They paid with Federal Sols. They are very generous, and the price they gave is also very high."

He was in a good mood now and didn't mind chatting a little more. "These foreigners are so generous. They bought all the grain at a price of 1.3, and even more, and they paid in Federal Sols!"

Pedro asked a question that others had not noticed. "Why don't they go to the grain station to buy, but come to a grocery store like yours?"

After listening, the shop owner was stunned for a moment. "Who knows?"

"Anyway, as long as they give the money, it's fine."