Mrs. Hastings glanced at Agatha, who understood what she meant, for Sproatly had hitherto spoken of Winifred circumspectly as Miss Rawlinson. Hastings, however, took the papers which Agatha handed him, and laid them aside.
"We'll let them wait until supper's over. I don't expect any news that's particularly good," he said. "The bottom's apparently dropping out of the wheat market."
"Hamilton can't get cars enough, and we'll have to shut down in another day or two unless they turn up," said Winifred. "It's much the same all along the line. The Winnipeg traffic people wired us they haven't an empty car in the yards. Why do you rush the grain in that way? It's bound to break the market."
Hastings smiled rather drily. "Well," he said, "a good many of us have bills to meet. For another thing, they've had a heavy crop in Manitoba, Dakota, and Minnesota, and I suppose some folks have an idea they'll get in first before the other people swamp the Eastern markets. I think they're foolish. It's a temporary scare. Prices will stiffen by and bye."
"That's what Hamilton says, but I suppose the thing is natural. Men are very like sheep, aren't they?"
Hastings laughed. "Well," he admitted, "we are, in some respects. When prices break a little we generally rush to sell. One or two of my neighbours are, however, holding on, and it's hardly likely that very much of my wheat will be flung on to a falling market."
"We have been getting a good deal from the Range."
There was displeasure in Hastings's face. "Gregory's selling largely on Harry's account?"
"They've been hauling wheat in to us for the last few weeks," said Winifred.
Hastings, as Agatha noticed, glanced at his wife significantly, but she interposed and forbade any further conversation of the kind until supper was over, while when the table had been cleared Hastings opened his papers. The rest sat expectantly silent, while he turned them over one after another.