“Oh!” she cried, “I have felt that. I try to feel it always—but just now it’s not enough.”
She turned her face away with a bitter sob, and Mrs. Hastings, who stooped and kissed her, went out of the room. The older woman knew that the girl had broken down at last, after months of strain.
It happened that Edmonds, the mortgage-broker, drove over to the Range, and found Hawtrey waiting for him in Wyllard’s room. It was early in the evening, and he could see the hired men busy outside tossing prairie hay from the wagons into the great barn. The men were half-naked and grimed with dust, but Hawtrey, who was dressed in store clothes, evidently had taken no share in their labors. When Edmonds came in he turned to the money-lender with anxiety in his face.
“Well?” he questioned brusquely.
“Market’s a little stiffer,” said Edmonds.
Edmonds sat down and stretched out his hand toward the cigar-box on the table, while Hawtrey waited with very evident impatience.
“Still moving up?” he asked.
Edmonds nodded. “It’s the other folks’ last stand,” he declared. “With the wheat ripening as it’s doing, the flood that will pour in before the next two months are out will sweep them off the market. I was half afraid from your note that this little rally had some weight with you, and that as one result of it you meant to cover now.”
“That,” admitted Hawtrey, “was in my mind.”