“He saved his wages for two years, and bought one share in a thirty-share company. That was only five years ago. They leased three hundred acres of peat land from a white man who preferred traveling in Europe. Out of the profits of that one share in the first year, he bought two shares in another company. And in a year more, out of the three shares, he organized a company of his own. One year of this, with bad luck, and he just broke even. That brings it up to three years ago. The following year, bumper crops, he netted four thousand. The next year it was five thousand. And last year he cleaned up nineteen thousand dollars. Pretty good, eh, for old broken-down Chow Lam?”
“My!” was all Saxon could say.
Her eager interest, however, incited the commission merchant to go on.
“Look at Sing Kee—the Potato King of Stockton. I know him well. I've had more large deals with him and made less money than with any man I know. He was only a coolie, and he smuggled himself into the United States twenty years ago. Started at day's wages, then peddled vegetables in a couple of baskets slung on a stick, and after that opened up a store in Chinatown in San Francisco. But he had a head on him, and he was soon onto the curves of the Chinese farmers that dealt at his store. The store couldn't make money fast enough to suit him. He headed up the San Joaquin. Didn't do much for a couple of years except keep his eyes peeled. Then he jumped in and leased twelve hundred acres at seven dollars an acre.”
“My God!” Billy said in an awe-struck voice. “Eight thousan', four hundred dollars just for rent the first year. I know five hundred acres I can buy for three dollars an acre.”
“Will it grow potatoes?” Gunston asked.
Billy shook his head. “Nor nothin' else, I guess.”
All three laughed heartily and the commission merchant resumed:
“That seven dollars was only for the land. Possibly you know what it costs to plow twelve hundred acres?”
Billy nodded solemnly.