TAKING UP THE OPTIONS.
Vance arrived at Omaha on the following morning and registered at the Great Western Hotel, where he had breakfast.
Then he went to the reading-room and looked over the papers, particularly noting the corn situation.
It was now time for him to be about his business.
He procured a large, oblong manilla envelope, in which he enclosed his letter of instruction, all but one of his letters of introduction, option vouchers and his check-book, and after removing a single specific check marked by a perforated capital “A,” he sealed up the package, addressed it to himself and deposited it in the hotel safe.
Then he sallied forth on the streets of Omaha.
The hotel clerk had directed him where to find the elevator buildings, which were located at various points along the river front.
He took a car to the nearest point and then inquired his way to the office of Flint, Peabody & Co., who controlled three of the elevators.
Their counting-room was in Elevator A.
“I should like to see Mr. Peabody,” he said to a clerk who asked him his business.
“He is busy at present. Take a seat.”
After waiting half an hour he was shown into the private office.
“Mr. Peabody?” asked Vance of a little, white-haired old gentleman seated at a mahogany desk alongside a window overlooking the Missouri river.
“Yes; what can I do for you?”
Vance handed him his card, in one corner of which was printed Jared Whitemore in small type.
“Mr. Thornton, eh?” exclaimed the busy head of the establishment, regarding him with some surprise as he sized him up from head to foot.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ve been expecting a representative of Mr. Whitemore, as those corn options expire at noon to-day. I am bound to say I looked for an older person than you. I presume you have a power of attorney to act for him?” said Mr. Peabody, holding out his hand.
Vance produced the paper, which the gentleman very carefully examined.
“How am I to know that you are really the person set forth in this document—that you are actually Mr. Whitemore’s representative? It may be a forgery, and you may be acting for people opposed to that gentleman’s interests,” said Mr. Peabody sharply.
“I have a letter of introduction which ought to cover that point,” answered Vance, promptly producing an envelope addressed to the person he was talking to.
“Hum!” said Mr. Peabody, glancing it over. “Seems to be all right. However, as his option is a large one covering grain in our three elevators, I’ve got to be careful. Excuse me a moment.”
“Are you going to call up Mr. Whitemore?” asked Vance as the gentleman rose from his desk.
“Why do you ask?” asked Mr. Peabody abruptly, casting a suspicious look at the boy.
“Because, for business reasons he expressly desires that you should call up Mr. Walcott of the Chicago National Bank and ask for him. He does not want any communication at his office direct.”
“Very well,” replied the gentleman, who easily surmised Mr. Whitemore’s reasons.
The elevator magnate entered a telephone booth at the end of the room and sat there a matter of fifteen minutes.
“I am satisfied that you are Mr. Whitemore’s representative,” he said as he reseated himself at his desk. “Now, young man, we will talk business. Of course you don’t expect me to close with you except at the market price?”
“I expect to settle with you at the price named in the option, less the amount paid to secure it,” said Vance promptly.
“You ought to know that corn is several points above the figure stated in the option. We cannot close on those terms.”
“Do I understand that you refuse to make a settlement of this transaction according to the terms of the option?” asked Vance, rising to his feet.
“Sit down, young man,” said the elevator magnate. “You have the voucher for the option with you, I suppose?”
“Certainly.”
“I should like to see it.”
“You are prepared to redeem the option now, are you?” and Mr. Peabody glanced at the clock, which indicated close on to the noon hour.
“Yes, sir.”
The gentleman considered the matter for several minutes, during which he cast penetrating looks at Vance’s clear-cut, determined face.
“Does Mr. Whitemore propose to hold this corn in storage here?”
“I have no instructions as to its immediate removal,” replied Vance; “that is all I can say.”
“Very well. Have you Mr. Whitemore’s check for the difference?”
“I have Mr. Whitemore’s signed check, made out to your order, which I will hand you as soon as the amount has been computed.”
“It is possible there will be a difference in our figures,” said Mr. Peabody, with a grim smile.
“That’s all right,” replied Vance, briskly. “The amount has been left to me to fill in.”
“Eh?” exclaimed Mr. Peabody, in a tone of surprise.
Vance repeated his remark.
“By George, young man, he seems to place implicit confidence in you!” and the head of the elevator firm once more looked Vance over, and with some curiosity.
Mr. Peabody, having decided to close up the transaction on the terms of the option, which he was legally bound to do, since Vance could not be bluffed into accepting less favorable ones, the differences were calculated, and the boy filled in the check designated as “A,” requesting a receipt for the amount, which was immediately made out and handed to him.
Mr. Whitemore thus became the owner of something over a million bushels of corn stored in elevators A, B, and C.
This completed Vance’s business in Omaha.
On his way back to the hotel he stopped at the postoffice, and forwarded to his employer, in care of the Chicago National Bank, the receipt for the money covered by the check.
Then he went to dinner, after which he spent an hour viewing some of the sights of the western city.
At four o’clock he took a cab for the Union Depot, bought a ticket for Kansas City, and took his seat in a Pullman sleeper.
He arrived at his destination about midnight, drove to one of the principal hotels and went to bed, after taking the precaution to deposit his valuable papers in the office safe.
There were three different elevator firms he had to visit in this city.
He presented himself at the first at ten o’clock.
Here his youth was also unfavorably commented on in a transaction which involved 600,000 bushels of grain, and the head of the firm was inclined to hold off, until Vance insisted that he should communicate with his employer in Chicago.
Not being able to get Mr. Walcott on the long-distance ’phone, Vance suggested that he call up Flint, Peabody & Co., of Omaha.
The gentleman, after some demur, consented to do this, being personally acquainted with Mr. Peabody, and the result of the confab was so satisfactory that Vance completed his business with him, getting a call on the corn, as the option did not expire until the next day.
At the offices of the other two elevators Vance had very little trouble, his power of attorney and letters of introduction being accepted without question, and no attempt being made to evade the terms of the option.
“That winds up this town,” he said in a tone of satisfaction as he left the last place. “It is easier than I expected. Now for the postoffice.”
He inquired the way there, purchased a stamped envelope, and sent off the three receipts by registered mail, according to his instructions.
“I’ve got lots of time now, as the next option at Grainville does not expire until Friday,” he reflected as he took a car for his hotel. “Guess I’ll take in a show to-night.”
He reached the hotel in time for lunch.
While he was in the dining-room a smart, dapper-looking young man entered the hotel rotunda and walked briskly up to the office counter.
Taking possession of the registry book, he glanced rapidly over the day’s arrivals.
His nervous finger-tips paused for an instant at Vance Thornton’s name, which, in clear handwriting, stood almost at the top of the first page.
The young man noted the number of the room to which the boy had been assigned, and then glanced sharply at the numbered pigeon-holes where the room keys were deposited.
“He’s here, all right,” he muttered, as he turned away with a singular smile, “and is not in his room. He reached here early this morning, as his name is right under the date. He ought to be an easy proposition for Sadie to work. I must have those corn options and whatever warehouse receipts he has secured. Old Whitemore was pretty slick to send this young chap instead of Vyce, whom we depended on. But the old fox is up against a crowd as slick as himself this time, and he’s going to be squeezed good and hard.”
Thus speaking to himself, the dapper young man pulled a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end, and lit it.
Then he walked over and seated himself in a chair that commanded a view of the office.