“Well,” she said, “he only wants a little managing if he bought you these, and nobody could say you ran after him.”
CHAPTER XX
THE FIRST STAKE
A fortnight had slipped by since the evening Hawtrey had spent with Sally, when Winifred and Sproatly once more arrived at the Hastings homestead. The girl was looking jaded, and it appeared that the manager of the elevator, who had all along treated her with a great deal of consideration, had insisted upon her going away for a few days when the pressure of business which had followed the harvest had slackened. Sproatly, as usual, had driven her in from the settlement.
When the evening meal was finished they drew their chairs close up about the stove, and Hastings thrust fresh birch billets into it, for there was a bitter frost. Mrs. Hastings installed Winifred in a canvas lounge and wrapped a shawl about her.
“You haven’t got warm yet, and you’re looking quite worn out,” she said. “I suppose Hamilton has still been keeping you at work until late at night?”
“We have been very busy since I was last here,” Winifred admitted, and then turned to Hastings. “Until the last week or so there has been no slackening in the rush to sell. Everybody seems to have been throwing wheat on to the market.”
Hastings looked thoughtful. “A good many of the smaller men have been doing so, but I think they’re foolish. They’re only helping to break down prices, and I shouldn’t wonder if one or two of the big, long-headed buyers saw their opportunity in the temporary panic. In fact, if I’d a pile of money lying in the bank I’m not sure that I wouldn’t send along a buying order and operate for a rise.”