! 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 in the eye of the
public. There was no wheat on the Chicago market. He, the great man,
the "Napoleon of La Salle Street," had it all. He sold it or hoarded
it, as suited his pleasure. He dictated the price to those men who must
buy it of him to fill their contracts. His hand was upon the indicator
of the wheat dial of the Board of Trade, and he moved it through as
many or as few of the degrees of the circle as he chose.

The newspapers, not only of Chicago, but of every city in the Union,
exploited him for "stories." The history of his corner, how he had
effected it, its chronology, its results, were told and retold, till
his name was familiar in the homes and at the firesides of uncounted
thousands. "Anecdotes" were circulated concerning hi