“I will have no difficulty in getting the owners to agree to an assignment of these charters to you,” he advised Carter. “You and Ford are brothers in good standing, I take it. However, if they insist on doing business through me, in order that they may hold me responsible, I'll simply recharter to you at the same rate.”
“Lovely!” cried Messrs. Ford & Carter in unison.
Ten minutes later J. Augustus Redell burst into Cappy Ricks' sanctum and wakened the old gentleman from his afternoon siesta.
“The trap is set,” he announced. “Come on, Cappy! We're going up to the broker's office now and give the order to sell our December wheat. I can't go alone, you know. There wouldn't be an odor of sanctity about the transaction if I did.”
“We'll have Gregg & Company attend to it for us,” Cappy announced. “You remember Harry Gregg, don't you? Used to be in the steamship business years ago. Gosh, that boy knows me! He'll take a stiff finger bet from Alden P. Ricks.”
Together they motored uptown to the office of Gregg & Co., where Cappy's card gained him instant admittance to the broker's private office. Redell remained in the anteroom on pretense of speaking to an acquaintance, and the instant Cappy disappeared into Gregg's office Redell stepped out into the hall, where he waited until Cappy had booked his order and came hunting for him.
“Well, I've sold my two hundred and fifty thousand bushels at a dollar-ninety,” Cappy announced.
“How much margin?” Redell demanded.
“Oh, Gregg didn't sting me very hard. Ten cents a bushel. It seemed like a good bet to him. He looks for a drop in December wheat.”
“Met a pest out here and couldn't seem to get away from him,” Redell explained. “Take me in and introduce me to Gregg, and I'll give him an order to sell a jag of wheat for me.”