They sat some minutes in silence. Then the woman looked up at her companion. “What are you thinking about so seriously?” she asked.
The man started; then drew himself up and gave a little nervous laugh. “Of you,” he replied evasively, “always.”
She reached up and slapped his cheek tenderly. “You were dreaming of your awful business deals,” she said. “What have you in hand now?––besides the revolution in Colombia, your mines, your mills, your banks, your railroads and trolley lines, your wheat and potato corners, your land concessions and cattle schemes, and––well, that’s a start, at least,” she finished, pausing for breath.
“Another big deal,” he said abruptly.
“Wheat, again?”
“No, cotton. I’m buying every bale I can find, in Europe, Asia, and the States.”
“But, Will, you’ve been caught in cotton before, you know. And I don’t believe you can get away with it again. Unless––”
“That’s it––unless,” he interrupted. “And that’s just the part I have taken care of. It’s a matter of tariff. The cotton schedule will go through as I have it outlined. I practically own the Commission. They don’t dare refuse to pass the measure. Cotton is low now. In a few months the tariff on cotton products will be up. The new tariff-wall sends the price of raw stuff soaring. I profit, coming and going. I was beaten on the last deal simply because of faulty weather prognostications. I made a bad guess. This time the weather doesn’t figure. I’ll let you in, if you wish. But these other fellows have got to stay out.”
“I haven’t a penny to invest, Will,” she replied mournfully. “You got me so terribly involved in this Colombian revolution.”
“Oh, well,” he returned easily, “I’ll lend you what you need, any amount. And you can give me your advice and suggestions 100 from time to time. As for your Colombian investments, haven’t I guaranteed them, practically?”