“Which bank, papa?”
Mr. Jessop laughed.
“The Chemical Bank, if you like; or, as you are just over from the other side, perhaps I should say the Bank of England.”
“And did you take out every cent?”
“Yes; and I wished there was double the amount to take. It’s a sure thing. There’s no speculation about it. There isn’t a bushel of wheat in the country that isn’t in the combination. It would have been sinful not to have put every cent I could scrape together into it. Why, Carrie, I’ll give you a quarter of a million when the deal comes off.”
Carrie shook her head.
“I’ve been afraid of wheat corners,” she said, “ever since I was a baby. Still, I’ve no right to say anything. It’s all your money, anyway, and I’ve just been playing that it was mine. But I do wish you had left a hundred dollars for a typewriter.”
Mr. Jessop laughed again in a very hearty and confident way.
“Don’t you fret about that, Carrie. I’ve got four type machines down at the office. I’ll let you have your choice before the crash comes. Now I’ll go down and see those customs men. There won’t be any trouble. I know them.”
It was when Mr. Jessop departed that Buel suddenly became anxious to get rid of Brant. When he had succeeded, he walked over to where the girl leaned on the bulwark.