Incidentally a corner in wheat was suddenly developed, and the price of bread rose twenty per cent. Bivens was found to be the mysterious power behind the deal, and before the old-timers in the wheat pit could marshal their forces to crush him, he closed out his holdings at a profit of five millions.
The little financier awoke next morning to find himself the most famous man in America. His picture now appeared everywhere and all sorts of writers began to weave marvellous stories of his achievements. The suicide of his associates, the higher price of bread, and the long trail of blood behind the panic were forgotten by the rabble which began to regard him with the awe due a demi-god.
Nan was insisting again that he make Stuart an offer to become his associate in business.
"But my dear," the financier protested, "I've told you over and over again, in the best of humour and with infinite patience, that I'd jump at the chance, but I can't get on my knees and beg him, can I?"
"I'm sure he will consider your offer now."
"He turned it down once emphatically."
"Times have changed."
"But he hasn't. He promised you the day he was hurt to call at the house. He hasn't done it."
"He has been ill in bed ever since. He will come when he is up again."
"Perhaps," Bivens answered, musingly.