John’s impulse was to sell, but David made no sign. The market held firm for a while, even going a little higher. Then it began to drop rather more rapidly than it had advanced, to about what the pork had cost, and for a long period fluctuated only a few cents one way or the other. This was followed by a steady decline to the extent of half-a-dollar, and, as the reports came, it “looked like going lower,” which it did. In fact, there came a day when it was so “low,” and so much more “looked like going lower” than ever (as such things usually do when the “bottom” is pretty nearly reached), that our friend had not the courage to examine the market reports for the next two days, and simply tried to keep the subject out of his mind. On the morning of the third day the Syrchester paper was brought in about ten o’clock, as usual, and laid on Mr. Harum’s desk. John shivered a little, and for some time refrained from looking at it. At last, more by impulse than intention, he went into the back room and glanced at the first page without taking the paper in his hands. One of the press dispatches was headed: “Great Excitement on Chicago Board of Trade: Pork Market reported Cornered: Bears on the Run,” and more of the same sort, which struck our friend as being the most profitable, instructive, and delightful literature that he had ever come across. David had been in Syrchester the two days previous, returning the evening before. Just then he came into the office, and John handed him the paper.
“Wa’al,” he said, holding it off at arm’s length, and then putting on his glasses, “them fellers that thought they was all hogs up West, are havin’ a change of heart, are they? I reckoned they would ’fore they got through with it. It’s ben ruther a long pull, though, eh?” he said, looking at John with a grin.
“Yes,” said our friend, with a slight shrug of the shoulders.
“Things looked ruther colicky the last two three days, eh?” suggested David. “Did you think ‘the jig was up an’ the monkey was in the box?’ ”
“Rather,” said John. “The fact is,” he admitted, “I am ashamed to say that for a few days back I haven’t looked at a quotation. I suppose you must have carried me to some extent. How much was it?”
“Wa’al,” said David, “I kept the trade margined, of course, an’ if we’d sold out at the bottom you’d have owed me somewhere along a thousan’ or fifteen hunderd; but,” he added, “it was only in the slump, an’ didn’t last long, an’ anyway I cal’lated to carry that pork to where it would ’a’ ketched fire. I wa’n’t worried none, an’ you didn’t let on to be, an’ so I didn’t say anythin’.”
“What do you think about it now?” asked John.
“My opinion is now,” replied Mr. Harum, “that it’s goin’ to putty near where it belongs, an’ mebbe higher, an’ them ’s my advices. We can sell now at some profit, an’ of course the bears’ll jump on agin as it goes up, an’ the other fellers’ll take the profits f’m time to time. If I was where I could watch the market, I’d mebbe try to make a turn in ’t ’casionally, but I guess as ’tis we’d better set down an’ let her take her own gait. I don’t mean to try an’ git the top price—I’m alwus willin’ to let the other feller make a little—but we’ve waited fer quite a spell, an’ as it’s goin’ our way, we might ’s well wait a little longer.”
“All right,” said John, “and I’m very much obliged to you.”
“Sho, sho!” said David.
It was not until August, however, that the deal was finally closed out.
XLIII
The summer was drawing to a close. The season, so far as the social part of it was concerned, had been what John had grown accustomed to in previous years, and there were few changes in or among the people whom he had come to know very well, save those which a few years make in young people: some increase of importance in demeanor on the part of the young men whose razors were coming into requisition; and the changes from short to long skirts, from braids, pigtails, and flowing-manes to more elaborate coiffures on the part of the young women. The most notable event had been the reopening of the Verjoos house, which had been closed for two summers, and the return of the family, followed by the appearance of a young man whom Miss Clara had met abroad, and who represented himself as the acknowledged fiancé of that young woman. It need hardly be said that discussions of the event, and upon the appearance, manners, prospects, etc., of that fortunate gentleman had formed a very considerable part of the talk of the season among the summer people; and, indeed, interest in the affair had permeated all grades and classes of society.
It was some six weeks after the settlement of the transaction in “pork” that David and John were driving together in the afternoon as they had so often done in the last five years. They had got to that point of understanding where neither felt constrained to talk for the purpose of keeping up conversation, and often in their long drives there was little said by either of them. The young man was never what is called “a great talker,” and Mr. Harum did not always “git goin’.” On this occasion they had gone along for some time, smoking in silence, each man absorbed in his thoughts. Finally David turned to his companion.
“Do you know that Dutchman Claricy Verjoos is goin’ to marry?” he asked.
“Yes,” replied
