“From bales we carried to the New Haven pier.”
“When?”
“Just this week.”
“How much is there?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t weigh it.”
“But you have a pretty good idea of what it will weigh. What does one of these bags weigh?”
“About seventy-five pounds, I guess,” replied Jensen.
Sheridan lifted a bag. “That’s a close guess,” he said. “We’ll call it seventy-five, anyway.” Rapidly he counted the bags. “Thirty-five,” he said. “That makes thirty-five times seventy-five.” He stopped and made some figures on an old envelope. “Twenty-six hundred and twenty-five pounds,” he said. “More than a ton and a quarter of cotton, Mr. Morgan. That’s a little better than five bales. It’s worth something more than $650 wholesale at present prices. Have you had any complaints about loss of cotton?”
“Lots of them, but we have seldom been able to put our hands on the thieves.”
“Let me suggest that you have every one of your lighters examined and measured and all space accounted for. It might be worth your while.”