A Corner in Corn by Self-Made Man - HTML preview

CHAPTER XVI.

A CORNER IN CORN.

It was a bright, sunny morning, thirty-six hours later, that William Bradhurst came downstairs and purchased the morning paper at the news-stand in the lobby of the Grand Pacific.

He opened it and cast his eye rapidly over the first page.

A leading article arrested his attention.

It was headed “A Corner in Corn.”

“By George!” he exclaimed, with no little excitement. “At last!”

On crowded La Salle street a few hours later everybody was talking about it.

There could no longer be any doubt that Vance Thornton, the Boy Corn King, had got hold of every bit of corn there was;

That he had actually cornered the visible supply.

That a mere boy could do this was simply astounding.

That he actually had done so was not now denied.

The news, fully verified, had by this time been wired all over America.

Vance Thornton’s name was that morning on every business man’s lips from the Atlantic to the Pacific, from the Great Lakes to the Gulf of Mexico.

Traders who must buy the grain to fulfil their contracts now began to call at Mr. Whitemore’s office in the Rookery Building.

They inquired deferentially for the boy who held the market in his hand, and bowed to his mandate when he dictated the price.

Among the brokers who dropped in that morning was Mr. Jarboe, the dignified head of the firm of Jarboe, Willicutt & Co.

“I’ll see him,” said Vance when his name was handed in.

“Good-morning, Mr. Thornton,” said the trader, as politely as his feelings would permit.

“Good-morning, Mr. Jarboe. What can I do for you?”

“The fact is, young man,” answered the broker, hesitatingly, “we are short to you one million bushels at (here he named a figure) a bushel. I want to know how much it is going to cost us to get out of your corner.”

To get out those words was worse than if he had to swallow a bitter pill.

Vance looked at him with a quizzical smile.

“It seems to me it would have been better for you if you had stuck by the sinking ship, Mr. Jarboe. You see, she was only waterlogged for the moment, and a golden pump put her on an even keel again.”

“All men make mistakes,” responded Mr. Jarboe abruptly. “What is the figure?”

“In consideration of your long connection with Mr. Whitemore,” said Vance, “I’ll let you off easy,” and he named a price.

“Vance Thornton,” said Mr. Jarboe, his dignity suddenly melting away, “you have acted like a man. Allow me to shake you by the hand and congratulate you on the wonderful ability you have displayed in engineering so gigantic a deal. I am proud to acknowledge your acquaintance, and I may say the same for my partners. Instead of crowing over a firm of solid old traders whom you have caught in the toils, and squeezing us badly, as you have the power to do, you have acted with the utmost fairness. Our loss is considerable, it is true, but no more than we deserve under the circumstances. The only favor I will ask of you is that you will keep this a secret. It would be a blow to Mr. Whitemore, who I understand is nearly recovered from his trouble, and expects soon to be back among us, if he should learn the true facts of the case.”

“It shall go no further, Mr. Jarboe,” Vance assured him.

“Thank you,” and Mr. Jarboe took out his check-book and signed a check covering the sum due to Vance.

Then, with a bow and another handshake, he left the office.

It was closing-up time.

All the working force of the office had gone out but Miss Brown, who was adjusting her hat preparatory to her departure.

Vance appeared at his office door.

“Bessie,” he said, “I’d like to see you.”

She entered the private room, and stood before him in readiness to take any order he wished to give her.

It was not the old Bessie, but the new one, who always addressed Vance now as Mr. Thornton.

“Bessie,” said Vance, taking both her hands suddenly in his, “aren’t you glad?”

She looked at him in surprise, and then her gaze dropped.

“Aren’t you glad it is all over?” he repeated eagerly, in the old voice that seemed to come to her like an echo from the dead past.

“I don’t know,” she answered, in a trembling tone.

“You don’t know?” he said, almost plaintively. “Don’t you care?”

She half turned away from him, but Vance seized her by the shoulders and swung her back again.

“It is true that I’m not the same old Vance in some respects. I’m to-day the king of the corn market, and I’m worth several millions—just how many I can’t say as yet. I went into this thing because it was my duty to try and save Mr. Whitemore’s interests. If I’ve done more than that it was because once I took hold I couldn’t let go. I had to stick to my post—sink or swim on the ultimate result. Well, I’ve come out ahead. The papers call me the Corn King, and they tell the truth. But Bessie,” and tears came to his eyes as he spoke the words, “I’d give every dollar of my winnings—every cent I have made in this deal—to hear you call me Vance once more as you used to do, to know that you still think of me as you once did.”

There was a pause, and then the girl gradually lifted her eyes to his face.

“Vance!” she said softly.

Before Mr. Whitemore returned to his office a well man again he heard enough about that famous corner in corn to feel assured that Vance Thornton was the smartest boy who ever walked in shoe leather.

The full particulars of the deal he learned as soon as he and Vance came together again, and the result was that the sign on the office door was altered to Whitemore & Thornton, and nobody was surprised when they saw it.

That fall there was a quiet wedding at the Thornton home, on which occasion Elsie Thornton became Mrs. William Bradhurst, and Vance was the best man.

Bessie Brown was among those present, and the pronounced attention she received and accepted with pleasure from Vance Thornton seemed to augur well for another wedding at no very distant day, when the sweet little stenographer might be expected to make happy for life the boy who had effected A CORNER IN CORN.

THE END.