"But look here," warned Freye. "Here's a point. Cressler is not to know by the longest kind of chalk; anyhow not until he's so far in, he can't pull out. He and Jadwin are good friends, I'm told. Hello, it's raining a little. Well, I've got to be moving. See you at lunch to-morrow."
As Cressler turned into La Salle Street the light sprinkle of rain suddenly swelled to a deluge, and he had barely time to dodge into the portico of the Illinois Trust to escape a drenching. All the passers-by close at hand were making for the same shelter, and among these Cressler was surprised to see Curtis Jadwin, who came running up the narrow lane from the cafe entrance of the Grand Pacific Hotel.
"Hello! Hello, J.," he cried, when his friend came panting up the steps, "as the whale said to Jonah, 'Come in out of the wet.'"
The two friends stood a moment under the portico, their coat collars turned up, watching the scurrying in the street.
"Well," said Cressler, at last, "I see we got 'dollar wheat' this morning."
"Yes," answered Jadwin, nodding, "'dollar wheat.'"
"I suppose," went on Cressler, "I suppose you are sorry, now that you're not in it any more."
"Oh, no," replied Jadwin, nibbling off the end of a cigar. "No, I'm—I'm just as well out of it."
"And it's for good and all this time, eh?"
"For good and all."