“He’s a smart kid. He can’t be more than eighteen. Why, it’s my opinion he could give old Whitemore points in the business, as foxy as that old codger was.”
“It goes against my grain to give in to that boy,” said Carrington bitterly.
“Well, if you can see any way out of it I’ll be glad to hear of it. The fact remains that it has become exceedingly difficult lately to get corn at all. Nobody seems to be selling. Why, to-day even the bulls were bidding against one another, with no sales under a full point advance.”
“That’s right,” admitted the elegantly dressed Sid.
“When we sell the price will go down a bit, but the moment we try to recover there seems to be no corn for sale, and the market rebounds like a rubber ball.”
“It certainly is rotten,” replied Carrington, in a disgusted tone.
“There’s only one thing I see to do,” said Abe Palmer, in a confidential whisper.
“And that is?” asked Sid, eyeing him closely.
“To get out ourselves the easiest way we can and let the ring go to smash.”
“Which means at the least calculation a loss of about half a million apiece, not to speak of going back on the bunch. If they should find out they’d never forgive us.”