“I have been West on important business for Mr. Whitemore. As soon as I get the chance I will tell you a good many interesting particulars of my trip. It is time now that you went home for the day.”
“Why, how did you get that scar on your forehead?” she asked, laying her fingers gently on a small abrasion of the skin.
“That,” he replied, with a little laugh; “oh, I got that down in Missouri yesterday morning while butting in against a runaway team. I saved a man’s life and made a good friend. His name is William Bradhurst, and he’s a millionaire eleven times over. He—why, by George!”
Vance stopped and stared at the girl.
“Eleven millions!” he muttered. “Eleven millions in cash and securities, that’s what he said.”
“Vance, what are you talking about?” asked Bessie nervously.
“Eleven million dollars! Why, Great Caesar! If I could induce him to back me up, with Mr. Whitemore’s enormous corn holdings I should win out. Mr. Whitemore would be saved financially, while Bradhurst himself would almost double his capital, for if we cornered the market—and with the start the boss has made we ought to be able to do it—we could surely control the price. We could easily buy up every bushel of that five million at Elevatorville. That would keep that lot from being moved to Chicago until we chose to have it put in motion. With scarcely any corn in transport the market would soar to—good gracious, I dare not think of it. I haven’t a moment to lose. I must see Mr. Bradhurst at once.”
And Vance, for the first time in his life utterly ignoring Bessie, rushed for his hat.
“Vance—Vance!” she cried, running after him. “You haven’t gone crazy, have you?”
“Crazy!” he cried almost fiercely, turning full upon her. “Yes, I have! I’m crazy—crazy with a scheme that means millions to us. Go home. I can’t see you to the car. I’ve got to go to the Grand Pacific on business.”