nd now drove about the prairie as an agent for certain
makers of agricultural implements.

"I called for your mail and Gregory's before we left," he said. "I had
to go around to see Hawtrey, which is partly what made us so late,
though Winifred couldn't get away as soon as she expected. They have
floods of wheat coming in to the elevators and I understand that the
milling people can't take another bushel in."

Mrs. Hastings glanced at Agatha, who understood what the look meant, for
Sproatly had hitherto spoken of Winifred circumspectly as Miss
Rawlinson.

Hastings took the papers which Agatha handed to him and laid them aside.

"We'll let them wait until supper's over. I don't expect any news that's
particularly good," he said. "The bottom's apparently dropping out of
the wheat market."

"Mr. Hamilton can't get cars enough, and we'll have to shut down in
another day or two unless they turn up," remarked Winifred. "It's much
the same all along the line. The Winnipeg traffic people wired us that
they haven't an empty car in the yards. Why do you rush the grain in
that way? It's bound to break the market."

Hastings smiled. "Well," he explained, "a good many of us have bills to
meet. For another thing, they've had a heavy crop in Manitoba, Dakota
and Minnesota, and I suppose some folks have an idea they'll get in
first before the other people swamp the Eastern markets. I think they're
foolish. It's a temporary scare. Prices will stiffen by and by."

"That's what Mr. Hamilton says, but I suppose the thing is natural. Men
are very like sheep, aren't they?"

Mr. Hastings laughed. "Well," he admitted, "we are, in some respects.
When prices break a little we generally rush to sell. One or two of my
neighbors are holding on, and it's hardly likely that very much of my
wheat will be flung on to a falling market."

"We have been getting a good deal from the Range."

There was displeasure in Hastings' face. "Gregory's selling largely on
Harry's account?"

"They've been hauling wheat in to us for the last few weeks," said
Winifred.

Agatha noticed that Hastings glanced at his wife significantly, but Mrs.
Hastings interposed and forbade any further conversation on the subject
until supper was over. After the table had been cleared Hastings opened
his papers. The others sat expectantly silent, while he turned the pages
over one after another.

"No," he said, "there's no news of Harry, and I'm afraid it's scarcely
poss