The Pit [104]
I knew this European demand would hit us hard about this time. I knew it was a good thing to buy wheat; I knew it was a good thing to have special agents over in Europe. Oh, they'll all buy now--when I've showed 'em the way. Upon my word, I haven't talked so much in a month of Sundays. You must pardon me, Mr. Corthell. I don't make five hundred thousand every day."
"But this is the last--isn't it?" said Laura.
"Yes," admitted Jadwin, with a quick, deep breath. "I'm done now. No more speculating. Let some one else have a try now. See if they can hold five million bushels till it's wanted. My, my, I am tired--as I've said before. D'that tea come, Laura?"
"What's that in your hand?" she answered, smiling.
Jadwin stared at the cup and saucer he held, whimsically. "Well, well," he exclaimed, "I must be flustered. Corthell," he declared between swallows, "take my advice. Buy May wheat. It'll beat art all hollow."
"Oh, dear, no," returned the artist. "I should lose my senses if I won, and my money if I didn't.
"That's so. Keep out of it. It's a rich man's game. And at that, there's no fun in it unless you risk more than you can afford to lose. Well, let's not talk shop. You're an artist, Mr. Corthell. What do you think of our house?"
Later on when they had said good-by to Corthell, and when Jadwin was making the rounds of the library, art gallery, and drawing-rooms--a nightly task which he never would intrust to the servants--turning down the lights and testing the window fastenings, his wife said:
"And now you are out of it--for good."
"I don't own a grain of wheat," he assured her. "I've got to be out of it."
The next day he went down town for only two or three hours in the afternoon. But he did not go near the Board of Trade building. He talked over a few business matters with the manager of his real estate office, wrote an unimportant letter or two, signed a few orders, was back at home by five o'clock, and in the evening took Laura, Page, and Landry Court to the theatre .
After breakfast the next morning, when he had read his paper, he got up, and, thrusting his hands in his pockets, looked across the table at his wife.
"Well," he said. "Now what'll we do?"
She put down at once the letter she was reading.
"Would you like to drive in the park?" she suggested. "It is a beautiful morning."
"M--m--yes," he answered slowly. "All right. Let's drive in the park."
But she could see that the prospect was not alluring to him.
"No," she said, "no. I don't think you want to do that."
"I don't think I do, either," he admitted. "The fact is, Laura, I just about know that park by heart. Is there anything good in the magazines this month?"
She got them for him, and he installed himself comfortably in the library, with a box of cigars near at hand.
"Ah," he said, fetching a long breath as he settled back in the deep-seated leather chair. "Now this is what I call solid comfort. Better than stewing and fussing about La Salle Street with your mind loaded down with responsibilities and all. This is my idea of life."
But an hour later, when Laura--who had omitted her ride that morning--looked into the room, he was not there. The magazines were helter-skeltered upon the floor and table, where he had tossed each one after turning the leaves. A servant told her that Mr. Jadwin was out in the stables.
She saw him through the window, in a cap and great- coat, talking with the coachman and looking over one of the horses. But he came back to the house in a little while, and she found him in his smoking-room with a novel in his hand.
"Oh, I read that last week," she said, as she caught a glimpse of the title. "Isn't it interesting? Don't you think it is good?"
"Oh--yes--pretty good," he admitted. "Isn't it about time for lunch? Let's go to the matinee this afternoon, Laura. Oh, that's so, it's Thursday; I forgot."
"Let me read that aloud to you," she said, reaching for the book. "I know you'll be interested when you get farther along."
"But this is the last--isn't it?" said Laura.
"Yes," admitted Jadwin, with a quick, deep breath. "I'm done now. No more speculating. Let some one else have a try now. See if they can hold five million bushels till it's wanted. My, my, I am tired--as I've said before. D'that tea come, Laura?"
"What's that in your hand?" she answered, smiling.
Jadwin stared at the cup and saucer he held, whimsically. "Well, well," he exclaimed, "I must be flustered. Corthell," he declared between swallows, "take my advice. Buy May wheat. It'll beat art all hollow."
"Oh, dear, no," returned the artist. "I should lose my senses if I won, and my money if I didn't.
"That's so. Keep out of it. It's a rich man's game. And at that, there's no fun in it unless you risk more than you can afford to lose. Well, let's not talk shop. You're an artist, Mr. Corthell. What do you think of our house?"
Later on when they had said good-by to Corthell, and when Jadwin was making the rounds of the library, art gallery, and drawing-rooms--a nightly task which he never would intrust to the servants--turning down the lights and testing the window fastenings, his wife said:
"And now you are out of it--for good."
"I don't own a grain of wheat," he assured her. "I've got to be out of it."
The next day he went down town for only two or three hours in the afternoon. But he did not go near the Board of Trade building. He talked over a few business matters with the manager of his real estate office, wrote an unimportant letter or two, signed a few orders, was back at home by five o'clock, and in the evening took Laura, Page, and Landry Court to the theatre .
After breakfast the next morning, when he had read his paper, he got up, and, thrusting his hands in his pockets, looked across the table at his wife.
"Well," he said. "Now what'll we do?"
She put down at once the letter she was reading.
"Would you like to drive in the park?" she suggested. "It is a beautiful morning."
"M--m--yes," he answered slowly. "All right. Let's drive in the park."
But she could see that the prospect was not alluring to him.
"No," she said, "no. I don't think you want to do that."
"I don't think I do, either," he admitted. "The fact is, Laura, I just about know that park by heart. Is there anything good in the magazines this month?"
She got them for him, and he installed himself comfortably in the library, with a box of cigars near at hand.
"Ah," he said, fetching a long breath as he settled back in the deep-seated leather chair. "Now this is what I call solid comfort. Better than stewing and fussing about La Salle Street with your mind loaded down with responsibilities and all. This is my idea of life."
But an hour later, when Laura--who had omitted her ride that morning--looked into the room, he was not there. The magazines were helter-skeltered upon the floor and table, where he had tossed each one after turning the leaves. A servant told her that Mr. Jadwin was out in the stables.
She saw him through the window, in a cap and great- coat, talking with the coachman and looking over one of the horses. But he came back to the house in a little while, and she found him in his smoking-room with a novel in his hand.
"Oh, I read that last week," she said, as she caught a glimpse of the title. "Isn't it interesting? Don't you think it is good?"
"Oh--yes--pretty good," he admitted. "Isn't it about time for lunch? Let's go to the matinee this afternoon, Laura. Oh, that's so, it's Thursday; I forgot."
"Let me read that aloud to you," she said, reaching for the book. "I know you'll be interested when you get farther along."