"And where do we come in?"
"That's business," affirmed John Taylor. "You and two hundred and fifty of the biggest planters come in on the ground-floor of the two-billion-dollar All-Cotton combine. It can easily mean two million to you in five years."
"And the other planters?"
"They come in for high-priced cotton until we get our grip."
"And then?"
The quiet question seemed to invoke a vision for John Taylor; the gray eyes took on the faraway look of a seer; the thin, bloodless lips formed a smile in which there was nothing pleasant.
"They keep their mouths shut or we squeeze 'em and buy the land. We propose to own the cotton belt of the South."
Colonel Cresswell started indignantly from his seat.
"Do you think—by God, sir!—that I'd betray Southern gentlemen to—"
But Harry's hand and impassive manner restrained him; he cooled as suddenly as he had flared up.