“Did he?” said Laura, lifting her eyebrows.
“Yes, and he seemed so fine and earnest. Laura, wh—” Page adjusted a hairpin at the back of her head, and moved closer to Laura, her eyes on the floor. “Laura—what do you suppose it did mean to him—don’t you think it was foolish of him to talk like that?”
“Not at all,” Laura said, decisively. “If he said that he meant it—meant that he cared a great deal for you.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean that!” shrieked Page. “But there’s a great deal more to Landry than I think we’ve suspected. He wants to be more than a mere money-getting machine, he says, and he wants to cultivate his mind and understand art and literature and that. And he wants me to help him, and I said I would. So if you don’t mind, he’s coming up here certain nights every week, and we’re going to—I’m going to read to him. We’re going to begin with The Ring and the Book.”
In the later part of May, the weather being unusually hot, the Jadwins, taking Page with them, went up to Geneva Lake for the summer, and the great house fronting Lincoln Park was deserted.
Laura had hoped that now her husband would be able to spend his entire time with her, but in this she was disappointed. At first Jadwin went down to the city but two days a week, but soon this was increased to alternate days. Gretry was a frequent visitor at the country house, and often he and Jadwin, their rocking-chairs side by side in a remote corner of the porch, talked business in low tones till far into the night.
“Dear,” said Laura, finally, “I’m seeing less and less of you every day, and I had so looked forward to this summer, when we were to be together all the time.”
“I hate it as much as you do, Laura,” said her husband. “But I do feel as though I ought to be on the spot just for now. I can’t get it out of my head that we’re going to have livelier times in a few months.”
“But even Mr. Gretry says that you don’t need to be right in your office every minute of the time. He says you can manage your Board of Trade business from out here just as well, and that you only go into town because you can’t keep away from La Salle Street and the sound of the Wheat Pit.”
Was this true? Jadwin himself had found it difficult to answer. There had been a time when Gretry had been obliged to urge and coax to get his friend to so much as notice the swirl of the great maelstrom in the Board of Trade Building. But of late Jadwin’s eye and ear were forever turned thitherward, and it was he, and no longer Gretry, who took initiatives.
Meanwhile he was making money. As he had predicted, the price of wheat had advanced. May had been a fair-weather month with easy prices, the monthly Government report showing no loss in the condition of the crop. Wheat had gone up from sixty to sixty-six cents, and at a small profit Jadwin had sold some two hundred and fifty thousand bushels. Then had come the hot weather at the end of May. On the floor of the Board of Trade the Pit traders had begun to peel off their coats. It began to look like a hot June, and when cash wheat touched sixty-eight, Jadwin, now more than ever convinced of a coming Bull market, bought another five hundred thousand bushels.
This line he added to in June. Unfavorable weather—excessive heat, followed by flooding rains—had hurt the spring wheat, and in every direction there were complaints of weevils and chinch bugs. Later on other deluges had discoloured and damaged the winter crop. Jadwin was now, by virtue of his recent purchases, “long” one million bushels, and the market held firm at seventy-two cents—a twelve-cent advance in two months.
“She’ll react,” warned Gretry, “sure. Crookes and Sweeny haven’t taken a hand yet. Look out for a heavy French crop. We’ll get reports on it soon now. You’re playing with a gun, J., that kicks further than it shoots.”
“We’ve not shot her yet,” Jadwin said. “We’re only just loading her—for Bears,” he added, with a wink.
In July came the harvesting returns from all over the country, proving conclusively that for the first time in six years, the United States crop was to be small and poor. The yield was moderate. Only part of it could be graded as “contract.” Good wheat would be valuable from now on. Jadwin bought again, and again it was a lot of half a million bushels.
Then came the first manifestation of that marvellous golden luck that was to follow Curtis Jadwin through all the coming months. The French wheat crop was announced as poor. In Germany the yield was to be far below the normal. All through Hungary the potato and rye crops were light.
About the middle of the month Jadwin again called the broker to his country house, and took him for a long evening’s trip around the lake, aboard the Thetis. They were alone. MacKenny was at the wheel, and, seated on camp stools in the stern of the little boat, Jadwin outlined his plans for the next few months.
“Sam,” he said, “I thought back in April there that we were to touch top prices about
