WHAT SID CARRINGTON AND HIS PARTNER THOUGHT OF THE CORN SITUATION.
That same afternoon Abe Palmer and Sid Carrington were closeted together in their private office on La Salle street.
Business on the Board of Trade was over for the day.
The former held a copy of an afternoon paper in his hand.
“That bluff didn’t work, I see, and Edgar Vyce is in jail,” he said gloomily.
“I see he is. I took him for a cleverer man than that,” replied Carrington, with a muttered curse. “However, we’ve got to get him clear somehow, or he’s liable to blab, which would never do at all.”
“I should say not. It would simply ruin us.”
“It would for a fact. We would have to get out of business here for good and all. I’ll see the leader of my district to-night.”
“It looks as though we’ll have to throw up our hands, anyway, Sid,” said Palmer, with a moody glance at the decorated ceiling.
“Throw up nothing!” growled Carrington, with an impatient wave of his right hand, on the little finger of which glowed a valuable ruby ring.
“It’s easy to say that,” returned Abe, “but I don’t see any chance of a turn. The pool is six million bushels short, and the market remains as stiff as a poker.”
“Suppose it is. How can we tell but that this infernal young monkey, Vance Thornton, may be at the end of his tether also? It has taken an enormous amount of money for him to swing this deal. What I want to know is where did he get it?”
“That is what has bothered us right along. With all our sagacity and our pet spy system we have not been able to find out.”
“No, we haven’t. Who would ever have supposed that boy would turn out such a hard proposition?”
“He’s a smart kid. He can’t be more than eighteen. Why, it’s my opinion he could give old Whitemore points in the business, as foxy as that old codger was.”
“It goes against my grain to give in to that boy,” said Carrington bitterly.
“Well, if you can see any way out of it I’ll be glad to hear of it. The fact remains that it has become exceedingly difficult lately to get corn at all. Nobody seems to be selling. Why, to-day even the bulls were bidding against one another, with no sales under a full point advance.”
“That’s right,” admitted the elegantly dressed Sid.
“When we sell the price will go down a bit, but the moment we try to recover there seems to be no corn for sale, and the market rebounds like a rubber ball.”
“It certainly is rotten,” replied Carrington, in a disgusted tone.
“There’s only one thing I see to do,” said Abe Palmer, in a confidential whisper.
“And that is?” asked Sid, eyeing him closely.
“To get out ourselves the easiest way we can and let the ring go to smash.”
“Which means at the least calculation a loss of about half a million apiece, not to speak of going back on the bunch. If they should find out they’d never forgive us.”
“We’re not going to tell ’em. At any rate, if we’re going to save anything from the wreck it’ll have to be every man for himself; do you understand?”
“All right, Abe. I daresay you’re right. That boy seems to have got us at last where the shoe pinches. But I hate to give up the fight.”
“So do I; but if we hold on much longer we won’t be able to get out at all, except on Thornton’s own terms—and what they will be the Lord only knows. I don’t believe he has any great love for either of us, especially you, since I understand he got on to the true inwardness of the Kansas City job you put up on him.”
“If I’d only dreamed of what was coming I’d have pickled him for keeps that time,” said Sid, smiting the arm of his chair savagely.
“You wouldn’t have killed him, Sid?” the other said, aghast.
“Oh, no. I’m no murderer. But there are ways of putting a chap out of the way for a time that answer quite as well.”
So it was arranged between these two gentlemen before they went home for the day that they should quietly begin to cover their own personal sales—their share of the six million bushels sold by the ring—without any reference to the obligations they owed their partners in distress.
Jarboe, Willicutt & Co., however, still hung on, hoping for a turn in the market at any moment.
Long ago they had clearly seen that it was not Jared Whitemore who was backing Vance Thornton.
As day by day Jack Fox, Vance’s known representative, settled promptly for the corn he had bought, they wondered how long his resources would hold out.
Certainly there was a limit to everything in this world, and when Vance reached his, why then—at that stage of his reflections Mr. Jarboe always smiled grimly.
But as day succeeded day, that desirable point never seemed to be reached.
Thornton met all his engagements to the minute, and Jack Fox continued to wear the same confident smile he had sported the morning he first went into the pit to buck against the bear traders.
The same thorn annoyed Mr. Jarboe that bothered the rest of the combination.
Where did Vance’s money come from?
For good and sufficient reasons, insisted on by Thornton after the first week of their partnership, William Bradhurst had kept discreetly in the background, meeting Vance only when necessary, and then each time at a different rendezvous.
No one who saw Bradhurst lounging at times about the office door of the Grand Pacific Hotel would have suspected that impenetrable man had a dollar at stake in any precarious scheme.
Yet there were moments when he had reason to fear that even his eleven millions, now almost swallowed up in the insatiable maw of the corn market, would not be enough to stave off ultimate disaster.
But never for a moment did he lose confidence in the boy who was making such a shrewd fight against the combined bear interests of the Board of Trade.
Mr. Bradhurst had come to be a frequent visitor at the Thornton home, where he had been introduced by Vance the evening following their partnership arrangement.
Mrs. Thornton and Elsie received him with all the courtesy that well-bred people are wont to extend to a warm personal friend of the son of the family.
To a man who for eight years had been debarred from the ideals of civilization the pleasant home picture was restful and refreshing.
Possibly the lovely personality of Elsie Thornton had much to do with it.
At any rate, he found it agreeable to go there often.
“We see so little of Vance now,” Elsie said to him one evening as they sat together in the pleasant sitting-room. “You can scarcely imagine how much mother and I miss him,” and a tear-drop glistened in her eye.
“I presume you hold me largely responsible for this change in your domestic circle,” said Bradhurst, with almost a feeling of remorse.
“No, Mr. Bradhurst, we do not hold you responsible,” she answered, favoring him with such a bright glance that his blood quickened in his veins.
“And yet, by backing him in this enterprise I have actually kept him away from all the comforts of his home.”
“We do not look at it in that way. Rather we are grateful to you for what you have done and are still doing for Vance.”
“I am glad to see that you do not regard me as an undesirable factor in the case,” said the millionaire in a tone of pleasure.
“No, indeed,” she answered softly. “With his growing responsibilities Vance seems to have ceased to be a boy any longer. Not that we regret the change, but it would have pleased us better if the change had been more gradual.”
“I can understand your feelings,” said Bradhurst sympathetically. “But the end is almost in sight, Miss Elsie. It seems to be only a question of a few days now when Vance’s control of the corn market will be so complete that the whole country will recognize it.”
“Isn’t it wonderful to think what he has accomplished?” cried Elsie, enthusiastically. “Why every day the papers have something to say about him. This morning the Record referred to him as the ‘young corn king.’ Think of that!”
“And so he will be, I daresay, inside of forty-eight hours. Your brother has a wonderful head for speculative ventures. For that reason, and because I owe my life to his pluck and presence of mind, I decided to see him through, if it took the last dollar I possessed.”
“You were very good—very generous! We can never thank you enough for the interest you have taken in Vance.”
“I hope you won’t let the matter worry you any, Miss Elsie,” said Bradhurst, with a glance of unfeigned admiration for the girl.
She noticed the look and dropped her gaze to the carpet.
From that moment an increasing sympathy grew between the two.
Elsie recognized and was grateful for what Mr. Bradhurst was doing for her brother, whom she dearly loved, while the millionaire found a new pleasure in talking to and encouraging the lovely girl for whom he was beginning to feel a warm regard.