Little Mrs. Philpot was speechless for a time as the force of the situation broke upon her.
“Squeezed in a wheat corner?” inquired Miss Stackpole, “what do you mean by that?”
“I mean that Gaslucky got sheared in the big deal the other day at Chicago,” Lucas explained.
“Got sheared?”
“Yes, the bulls sat down on him.”
“Oh, you mean a speculation—a—”
“Yes, Gaslucky was in for all he was worth, and they run it down on him and flattened him. A gas-man’s no business in wheat, especially in Chicago; they spread him out, just as the sheriffs proceedings have flattened all our hopes for the present.”
“It’s just outrageous!” cried little Mrs. Philpot, finding her voice. “He should have notified us, so that—”
“They didn’t notify him, I guess,” said Cattleton.
“No, he found it out afterwards,” remarked Lucas, glancing gloomily toward where Dunkirk and Miss Moyne stood, apparently in light and pleasant conversation.