The Pit | Page 9

of
Trade, and in a few years was a millionaire. At the time of the
Turco-Russian War he and two Milwaukee men had succeeded in
cornering all the visible supply of spring wheat. At the end of the
thirtieth day of the corner the clique figured out its profits at close upon
a million; a week later it looked like a million and a half. Then the three
lost their heads; they held the corner just a fraction of a month too long,
and when the time came that the three were forced to take profits, they
found that they were unable to close out their immense holdings
without breaking the price. In two days wheat that they had held at a
dollar and ten cents collapsed to sixty. The two Milwaukee men were
ruined, and two-thirds of Cressler's immense fortune vanished like a
whiff of smoke.
But he had learned his lesson. Never since then had he speculated.
Though keeping his seat on the Board, he had confined himself to
commission trading, uninfluenced by fluctuations in the market. And
he was never wearied of protesting against the evil and the danger of
trading in margins. Speculation he abhorred as the small-pox, believing
it to be impossible to corner grain by any means or under any
circumstances. He was accustomed to say: "It can't be done; first, for
the reason that there is a great harvest of wheat somewhere in the world
for every month in the year; and, second, because the smart man who
runs the corner has every other smart man in the world against him.
And, besides, it's wrong; the world's food should not be at the mercy of
the Chicago wheat pit."
As the party filed in through the wicket, the other young man who had
come with Landry Court managed to place himself next to Laura.
Meeting her eyes, he murmured:
"Ah, you did not wear them after all. My poor little flowers."

But she showed him a single American Beauty, pinned to the shoulder
of her gown beneath her cape.
"Yes, Mr. Corthell," she answered, "one. I tried to select the prettiest,
and I think I succeeded--don't you? It was hard to choose."
"Since you have worn it, it is the prettiest," he answered.
He was a slightly built man of about twenty-eight or thirty; dark,
wearing a small, pointed beard, and a mustache that he brushed away
from his lips like a Frenchman. By profession he was an artist, devoting
himself more especially to the designing of stained windows. In this,
his talent was indisputable. But he was by no means dependent upon
his profession for a living, his parents--long since dead--having left him
to the enjoyment of a very considerable fortune. He had a beautiful
studio in the Fine Arts Building, where he held receptions once every
two months, or whenever he had a fine piece of glass to expose. He had
travelled, read, studied, occasionally written, and in matters pertaining
to the colouring and fusing of glass was cited as an authority. He was
one of the directors of the new Art Gallery that had taken the place of
the old Exposition Building on the Lake Front.
Laura had known him for some little time. On the occasion of her two
previous visits to Page he had found means to see her two or three
times each week. Once, even, he had asked her to marry him, but she,
deep in her studies at the time, consumed with vague ambitions to be a
great actress of Shakespearian roles, had told him she could care for
nothing but her art. He had smiled and said that he could wait, and,
strangely enough, their relations had resumed again upon the former
footing. Even after she had gone away they had corresponded regularly,
and he had made and sent her a tiny window--a veritable
jewel--illustrative of a scene from "Twelfth Night."
In the foyer, as the gentlemen were checking their coats, Laura
overheard Jadwin say to Mr. Cressler:
"Well, how about Helmick?"
The other made an impatient movement of his shoulders.
"Ask me, what was the fool thinking of--a corner! Pshaw!"
There were one or two other men about, making their overcoats and
opera hats into neat bundles preparatory to checking them; and
instantly there was a flash of a half-dozen eyes in the direction of the
two men. Evidently the collapse of the Helmick deal was in the air. All

the city seemed interested.
But from behind the heavy curtains that draped the entrance to the
theatre proper, came a muffled burst of music, followed by a long salvo
of applause. Laura's cheeks flamed with impatience, she hurried after
Mrs. Cressler; Corthell drew the curtains for her to pass, and she
entered.
Inside it was