The Pit [135]
and leaned back in his chair.
"They'll report the trade in a minute," he said. "Better wait and see."
Cressler stood at the window, his hands clasped behind his back, looking down into the street. He did not answer. The seconds passed, then the minutes. Crookes turned to his desk and signed a few letters, the scrape of his pen the only noise to break the silence of the room. Then at last he observed:
"Pretty bum weather for this time of the year."
Cressler nodded. He took off his hat, and pushed the hair back from his forehead with a slow, persistent gesture; then as the ticker began to click again, he faced around quickly, and crossing the room, ran the tape through his fingers.
"God," he muttered, between his teeth, "I hope your men didn't lose any time. It's up again."
There was a step at the door, and as Crookes called to come in, the office messenger entered and put a slip of paper into his hands. Crookes looked at it, and pushed it across his desk towards Cressler.
"Here you are," he observed. "That's your trade Five hundred May, at a dollar ten. You were lucky to get it at that--or at any price."
"Ten!" cried the other, as he took the paper.
Crookes turned away again, and glanced indifferently over his letters. Cressler laid the slip carefully down upon the ledge of the desk, and though Crookes did not look up, he could almost feel how the man braced himself, got a grip of himself, put all his resources to the stretch to meet this blow squarely in the front.
"And I said another eighth would bust me," Cressler remarked, with a short laugh. "Well," he added, grimly, "it looks as though I were busted. I suppose, though, we must all expect to get the knife once in a while--mustn't we? Well, there goes fifty thousand dollars of my good money."
"I can tell you who's got it, if you care to know," answered Crookes. "It's a pewter quarter to Government bonds that Gretry, Converse & Co. sold that wheat to you. They've got about all the wheat there is."
"I know, of course, they've been heavy buyers--for this Unknown Bull they talk so much about."
"Well, he ain't Unknown to me," declared Crookes. "I know him. It's Curtis Jadwin. He's the man we've been fighting all along, and all hell's going to break loose down here in three or four days. He's cornered the market."
"Jadwin! You mean J.--Curtis--my friend?"
Crookes grunted an affirmative.
"But--why, he told me he was out of the market--for good."
Crookes did not seem to consider that the remark called for any useless words. He put his hands in his pockets and looked at Cressler.
"Does he know?" faltered Cressler. "Do you suppose he could have heard that I was in this clique of yours?"
"Not unless you told him yourself."
Cressler stood up, clearing his throat.
"I have not told him, Mr. Crookes," he said. "You would do me an especial favor if you would keep it from the public, from everybody, from Mr. Jadwin, that I was a member of this ring."
Crookes swung his chair around and faced his desk.
"Hell! You don't suppose I'm going to talk, do you?"
"Well.... Good-morning, Mr. Crookes."
"Good-morning."
Left alone, Crookes took a turn the length of the room. Then he paused in the middle of the floor, looking down thoughtfully at his trim, small feet.
"Jadwin!" he muttered. "Hm! ... Think you're boss of the boat now, don't you? Think I'm done with you, hey? Oh, yes, you'll run a corner in wheat, will you? Well, here's a point for your consideration Mr. Curtis Jadwin, 'Don't get so big that all the other fellows can see you--they throw bricks.'"
He sat down in his chair, and passed a thin and delicate hand across his lean mouth.
"No," he muttered, "I won't try to kill you any more. You've cornered wheat, have you? All right.... Your own wheat, my smart Aleck, will do all the killing I want."
Then at last the news of the great corner, authoritative, definite, went out over all the country, and promptly the figure and name of Curtis Jadwin loomed suddenly huge and formidable
"They'll report the trade in a minute," he said. "Better wait and see."
Cressler stood at the window, his hands clasped behind his back, looking down into the street. He did not answer. The seconds passed, then the minutes. Crookes turned to his desk and signed a few letters, the scrape of his pen the only noise to break the silence of the room. Then at last he observed:
"Pretty bum weather for this time of the year."
Cressler nodded. He took off his hat, and pushed the hair back from his forehead with a slow, persistent gesture; then as the ticker began to click again, he faced around quickly, and crossing the room, ran the tape through his fingers.
"God," he muttered, between his teeth, "I hope your men didn't lose any time. It's up again."
There was a step at the door, and as Crookes called to come in, the office messenger entered and put a slip of paper into his hands. Crookes looked at it, and pushed it across his desk towards Cressler.
"Here you are," he observed. "That's your trade Five hundred May, at a dollar ten. You were lucky to get it at that--or at any price."
"Ten!" cried the other, as he took the paper.
Crookes turned away again, and glanced indifferently over his letters. Cressler laid the slip carefully down upon the ledge of the desk, and though Crookes did not look up, he could almost feel how the man braced himself, got a grip of himself, put all his resources to the stretch to meet this blow squarely in the front.
"And I said another eighth would bust me," Cressler remarked, with a short laugh. "Well," he added, grimly, "it looks as though I were busted. I suppose, though, we must all expect to get the knife once in a while--mustn't we? Well, there goes fifty thousand dollars of my good money."
"I can tell you who's got it, if you care to know," answered Crookes. "It's a pewter quarter to Government bonds that Gretry, Converse & Co. sold that wheat to you. They've got about all the wheat there is."
"I know, of course, they've been heavy buyers--for this Unknown Bull they talk so much about."
"Well, he ain't Unknown to me," declared Crookes. "I know him. It's Curtis Jadwin. He's the man we've been fighting all along, and all hell's going to break loose down here in three or four days. He's cornered the market."
"Jadwin! You mean J.--Curtis--my friend?"
Crookes grunted an affirmative.
"But--why, he told me he was out of the market--for good."
Crookes did not seem to consider that the remark called for any useless words. He put his hands in his pockets and looked at Cressler.
"Does he know?" faltered Cressler. "Do you suppose he could have heard that I was in this clique of yours?"
"Not unless you told him yourself."
Cressler stood up, clearing his throat.
"I have not told him, Mr. Crookes," he said. "You would do me an especial favor if you would keep it from the public, from everybody, from Mr. Jadwin, that I was a member of this ring."
Crookes swung his chair around and faced his desk.
"Hell! You don't suppose I'm going to talk, do you?"
"Well.... Good-morning, Mr. Crookes."
"Good-morning."
Left alone, Crookes took a turn the length of the room. Then he paused in the middle of the floor, looking down thoughtfully at his trim, small feet.
"Jadwin!" he muttered. "Hm! ... Think you're boss of the boat now, don't you? Think I'm done with you, hey? Oh, yes, you'll run a corner in wheat, will you? Well, here's a point for your consideration Mr. Curtis Jadwin, 'Don't get so big that all the other fellows can see you--they throw bricks.'"
He sat down in his chair, and passed a thin and delicate hand across his lean mouth.
"No," he muttered, "I won't try to kill you any more. You've cornered wheat, have you? All right.... Your own wheat, my smart Aleck, will do all the killing I want."
Then at last the news of the great corner, authoritative, definite, went out over all the country, and promptly the figure and name of Curtis Jadwin loomed suddenly huge and formidable