“Broken,” Mr. Higginson repeated, half dazed. “I didn't think our fight could break him.”
“We didn't do it all. He's been punctured all around. I guess his Board of Trade deal hit him the hardest.”
“What's this I've been hearing about this great lot of lumber in the yards—whose is it? I feel like Rip Van Winkle.”
“It's ours. When the trust cut prices we bought in all we could get.”
“But—but where did you get the money?”
“From the National City.”
“And you're going to sell now?”
“We've begun already. It will just about cover our losses. I understand Corrigan wants to raise prices a peg or so, but I've been thinking we'll hold the advantage better if we refuse.”
“You've had a fire, I understand?”
“Yes—didn't amount to much—less than the insurance premium would have cost us.”