The Profiteers | Page 9

receiver and listened.
"That Kendrick?" a voice enquired.
"Speaking," Kendrick answered.
"This is Peter Phipps, from right away opposite. Say, I am told that
John Wingate of New York is a client of yours."
Kendrick passed across the spare receiver to Wingate and paused for a
moment whilst the latter held it to his ear.
"He is," Kendrick admitted.
"Well, I am given to understand that he is coming into the City to do
business," Phipps continued. "If he is in any way disposed to be a seller,
we are buyers of wheat for autumn delivery at market price, perhaps
even a shade over."
"Any quantity?" Kendrick enquired.
"A hundred thousand--anything up to a million bushels, if Mr. Wingate
feels like coming in big. Anyway, we're ready to talk business. Will
you put it up to your client?"
"I will."
"Shall you be seeing him soon?"

"This morning, probably."
"Thought you might," the voice at the other end of the telephone
observed, "as I saw him step into your office half an hour ago. Give
him my compliments and say I hope we may make a deal together."
"Certainly," Kendrick promised. "Good morning."
The two men laid down their receivers. Kendrick's eyes twinkled.
"Well, that fellow's a sport, anyway," he declared.
"I suppose in one sense of the word he is," Wingate admitted. "So he
wants me to sell him wheat, eh? It looks a good thing at these prices,
Kendrick, doesn't it, and a normal harvest coming along on the other
side?"
"That's for you to say," was the cautious reply. "These big deals in
commodities which have to be delivered on a certain date always seem
to me a little out of the sphere of legitimate gambling."
"At the same time," Wingate remarked, "the price of wheat to-day is
scandalous. If the B. & I. forced it up any higher, I should think that the
Government must intervene."
"I shouldn't reckon upon it."
"Naturally! I shouldn't enter into a gamble, taking that as a certainty. At
the same time, I want to view the matter in all its bearings. I can't
conceive any private firm being allowed to boost up the price of wheat
to such an extent for purposes of speculation."
"It would be devilish difficult," Kendrick pointed out, "to trace the
whole thing to the B. & I."
Wingate took a cigarette from the open box upon the office table, lit it
and smoked for a moment thoughtfully.
"Kendrick," he said, "I am a good friend and a good enemy; Peter

Phipps is my enemy. We should probably shake hands if we met, we
might even sit down at the same table, but we know the truth. Each of
us in his heart desires nothing in the world so much as the ruin of the
other."
"What was the start of this feeling?" Kendrick asked.
"A woman," Wingate replied shortly, "and that's all there is to be said
about it, Kendrick. I shall hate Peter Phipps as long as I live, for the
sake of the girl he ruined, and he will hate me because of the thrashing
I gave him. Ever noticed the scar on his right cheek, Kendrick?"
"Often," the stockbroker replied. "He told me it was done in a saloon
fight out in the Far West."
"I did it in the Far East," Wingate declared grimly, "as far east, at least,
as the drawing-room of his Fifth Avenue house. He'll never lose that
scar. He'll never lose his hatred of the man who gave it to him.--So he
wants me to sell him wheat!"
"It's a pretty dangerous thing to introduce feelings of this sort into
business," Kendrick remarked.
"You're right," Wingate admitted. "It makes one careful. I'm not selling
any wheat to-day, Kendrick."
"It will be a disappointment to the office," the other remarked.
"Personally, I'm glad."
"Oh, I'll keep your office busy," Wingate promised. "I'm not coming
into the City for nothing, I can assure you. There are five commissions
for you," he went on, drawing a sheet of paper from the rack and
writing on it rapidly. "That will keep your office busy for a time. I'll
give you a cheque for fifty thousand pounds. Don't ring me up unless
you want more margin. Closing time prices are all I'm interested in, and
I can get those on the tape anywhere."
The stockbroker's eyes glistened as he looked through the list.

"You're a good judge, Wingate," he said. "You'll make money on most
of these."
"I expect I shall," Wingate acknowledged. "Anyhow, it will keep you
people busy and serve as a sort of visiting card here for me until--"
"Until what?" Kendrick asked, breaking a short pause.
"Until I can make up my mind how to deal with those fellows across
the