copped the place next to her. She looked around at the newcomers as if she was bored.
Lew Bennett was saying, 'Mr. Cullen's in a hurry to get back, and I'm confident, Mr. Pratt, you'll appreciate what he's doing as well as we do. You won't lose a cent. It will be a happy outcome-'
'I want to say it's a damned outrage!' It was Cullen, glowering at Pratt. 'It ought to be actionable! Where the devil!'
'Excuse me,' Bennett put in hastily. 'I've been all over that aspect of it, Mr. Cullen, and if Mr. Pratt doesn't see it our way… he just doesn't. It's quite useless… what I mean to say is, thank God you've come to the rescue.' He turned to Pratt. 'The arrangement is simply this, that Mr. Cullen has generously agreed to take Hickory Caesar Grindon.'
Pratt grunted, then was silent. After a moment he asked sullenly, 'What does he want with him?'
Bennett looked shocked. 'He has one of the finest purebred Guernsey herds in the country.'
Cullen growled, 'You understand, Pratt, I don't need him. My senior herd sire is Mahwah Gallant Masterson who has 43 A R daughters. I have three junior sires who are lined out. I'm doing this as a favor to the breed and to the National Guernsey League.'
Bennett said, 'About the arrangement. Mr. Cullen is quite correct when he says he doesn't really need Caesar. He is acting very generously, but he isn't willing to pay you the sum you paid McMillan. I know, you've told me you offered it and you paid it and you're satisfied, but the fact remains that $45,000 is a terrific price tor any bull. Why, Coldwater Grandee himself sold for $33,000 in 1932, and great as Caesar is, he isn't Grandee. In 1932 Grandee had 127 A R daughters and 15 A R sons. So the arrangement is this: Mr. Cullen will pay you $33,000, and Monte – Mr. McMillan will return $12,000 of the sum you paid him. You'll get all your money back. It can be paid now with Mr. Cullen's check, which I guess you know is good, and there'll be a truck here before dark to get Caesar. Mr. Cullen wants to show him at Crowfield Thursday, if he can be got in shape. I hope he's not upset. I understand you've got him in a pasture.'
Pratt turned on McMillan. 'You told me this noon that you regarded the deal as closed for good and you wouldn't be a party to any effort to cancel it,'
'I know I did.' McMillan couldn't keep his hand from trembling a little as he put down his drink. 'They've been riding me… they've been… I'm an old Guernsey man, Mr. Pratt.'
'You should be ashamed to admit it!' Cullen exploded. 'They should expel you from the league and freeze you out! Pratt doesn't know any better, he has that excuse at least. But you haven't! You knew what was going to happen to that bull before you sold him!'
'Sure.' McMillan nodded wearily. 'It's easy for you to talk, Mr. Cullen. What have you got, a couple of billion? What I had, after what the depression did to me, was my herd and nothing else. Just my herd. Then the anthrax came, only a month ago, and in one week what did I have? What did I have left out of my Hickory herd? Four calves, six cows, one junior sire, and Caesar. What could I do with Caesar under those conditions? Live on his fees? Where would that get me? I couldn't even buy grades to breed him to, let alone purebreds. I knew no stockman could pay high enough for him, so I sent telegrams offering him to a dozen of you gentlemen breeders, and what did I get? You all knew I was out on a limb, and the best offer was $9000! For Hickory Caesar Grindon, Then Mr. Pratt shows up and he tells me straight what he wants to do with Caesar, and of course I knew it was impossible, even in the fix I was in, but it was a temptation, so to get rid of him I set a figure so high it was ridiculous. $45,000' McMillan picked up his glass, looked into it, and put it down again. He said quietly, 'Mr. Pratt took out his checkbook and wrote out a check and I took it. It wasn't you, Mr. Cullen, who offered me $9000. As I remember it, your offer was $7500.'
Cullen shrugged. 'I didn't need him. Anyway, as it stands now, you'll be getting $33,000, or rather keeping that out of what Pratt paid you. Under the circumstances, McMillan, you may consider yourself damned lucky. What I'm doing is in effect philanthropy. I've had my superintendent on the phone, and I'm not even sure I want Caesar's line in my herd. There have been better bulls than Caesar before now, and there will be-'
'No bull of yours, damn you!' McMillan's voice shook with rage. 'You damn lousy amateur!' Abruptly he stopped himself, looked around at the faces, and slowly drew the back of his hand across his mouth. Then he leaned toward Cullen and said quietly but pointedly, 'How do you like that? Who are you to make side remarks about any bull or any cow either? Let alone Hickory Caesar Grindon! Caesar was the finest bull, bar none, that ever got on the register!'
He passed his hand across his mouth again. 'Yes, I say 'was', because he's not mine any more… and he's not yours yet, Mr. Cullen. He was a double grandson of Burleigh's Audacious. He had 51 A R daughters and 9 A R sons. I was up all night the day he was dropped – he sucked these fingers when he was six hours old.' The fingers trembled as he held them out. 'He took nine grands, the last one being at India- napolis, the National, last year. At five shows he has taken get of sire. Twelve of his daughters have topped 13,000 pounds of milk and 700 pounds of butterfat. And you say you're not even sure you want his line in your herd! Well, damn you, I hope you won't get it! At least I won't help you pay for it!'
He turned to the secretary of the National Guernsey League, Bennett, and said with his chin stiff, 'I'll keep my $12,000, Lew. Count me out of your little deal.'
What he got for that was an uproar. Bennett and Darth and Cullen all went for him. It was hard to get details out of all the confusion, but the gist of it seemed to be that McMillan was going back on his word and he couldn't do that, and the honor of the National Guernsey League and of all American stockmen was at stake, and it would put a crimp in the prestige of the North Atlantic Exposition if such a thing happened right next door to it, and McMillan would be keeping $33,000 which was enough anyhow, and so forth and so on. McMfflan sat, looking sad and sore but stubborn, without trying to reply to them.
They were shocked into silence by an unexpected bomb tossed into the fray by Pratt.
'Let him alone!' Pratt yelled. 'He's out of it anyhow. I don't want my money back from him or Mr. Cullen or anyone else. What I want is the bull, and I've got him, and a bill of sale. That's final.'
They glared at him. Bennett sputtered, 'You don't mean that. You can't mean iti Look here, I've told you-'
'I do mean it.' Pratt's wide jaw was set. 'I've paid a good price and I'm satisfied. I've made my arrangements and I'm going to stick to them. I've invited a hundred people-'
'But good God, after what I've…' Bennett jumped up, waving his arms, and it began to look as if I might have to reach into the holster after all. He raved. 'I tell you, you can't do iti By God, you won't do it! You're
