“Holmes,” said Steele, “there was an account of the wheat crop all over the country in the papers the other day—occupied a page, I think. Go to the nearest newspaper office and get a copy. As you go out, tell Bronson to come in here.”
When Bronson appeared, Steele said sharply: “Find out for me, from some reliable source, the lowest price of wheat for the last ten years.”
In an amazingly short space of time Holmes reappeared with a newspaper a week old, and laid it on Mr. Steele’s desk, and Bronson brought in an array of figures.
“Here we are!” cried Steele, jerking open the crackling sheet. “‘Wonderful harvests ahead! Tremendous wheat crops!’ Of course, it must be remembered that prophesying prosperity is always popular, and newspapers like that sort of news. Now, I shall select twenty-five places named in this paper. The useful Bronson will find out for me a reliable man in each place, and I will telegraph him. By to-morrow we should have replies from some fifteen or twenty of them; and if the majority say that the wheat crop is a failure, then I think we may rely on your forecast. Now, let us see what Bronson’s figures are. Sixty-five, sixty-two and a half, sixty-four and an eighth, fifty-three and five-eighths, forty-eight and three-quarters—gee-whillikins, that’s getting down to bedrock!—fifty, fifty-four and nine-eighths, sixty-nine and one-eighth, eighty-five—ah! that’s something like—seventy-four and a quarter, and so on. Why, it seems from this that no man is safe in buying for a rise if he pays more than fifty cents a bushel, while you have bought at seventy-eight! Septimus Severus! I admire your nerve, but not your judgment. Well, drop in to-morrow, about two, and we’ll see what the telegrams bring us.”
“Suppose, meanwhile, wheat falls another cent or two, what am I to do?”
“Oh, they can’t hurt you to-day—it’s after four o’clock; and to-morrow we’ll see what is best to be done. It is useless to conceal from you the fact that there is an unholy gulf between seventy-eight at which you bought, and fifty, to which wheat has on more than one occasion fallen. That means a little deficit of two hundred and eighty thousand dollars on your gentle flutter.”
“The truth must come out soon, Mr. Steele, and it may be published any morning. When that happens, wheat will go up like a balloon.”
“All right, Tom, I can say nothing further just now. To-morrow you will find me brimful of information, and quite decided as to the course I shall take.”
With this the visitor had to be content. Next day he arrived at Steele’s office in a more cheerful frame of mind. Wheat had closed the day before one-eighth stronger than it was in the morning. The conference this time was short, sharp, and decisive. Steele was thoroughly the man of business.
“I received seventeen replies,” he said, “and they all corroborate your forecast. Now, what do you wish me to do with the little parcel of wheat standing against your name?”