THE FIRST STAKE
A fortnight had slipped by since the evening Hawtrey had spent with
Sally, when Winifred and Sproatly once more arrived at the Hastings
homestead. The girl was looking jaded, and it appeared that the manager
of the elevator, who had all along treated her with a great deal of
consideration, had insisted upon her going away for a few days when the
pressure of business which had followed the harvest had slackened.
Sproatly, as usual, had driven her in from the settlement.
When the evening meal was finished they drew their chairs close up about
the stove, and Hastings thrust fresh birch billets into it, for there
was a bitter frost. Mrs. Hastings installed Winifred in a canvas lounge
and wrapped a shawl about her.
"You haven't got warm yet, and you're looking quite worn out," she said.
"I suppose Hamilton has still been keeping you at work until late at
night?"
"We have been very busy since I was last here," Winifred admitted, and
then turned to Hastings. "Until the last week or so there has been no
slackening in the rush to sell. Everybody seems to have been throwing
wheat on to the market."
Hastings looked thoughtful. "A good many of the smaller men have been
doing so, but I think they're foolish. They're only helping to break
down prices, and I shouldn't wonder if one or two of the big,
long-headed buyers saw their opportunity in the temporary panic. In
fact, if I'd a pile of money lying in the bank I'm not sure that I
wouldn't send along a buying order and operate for a rise."
Mrs. Hastings shook her head at him. "No," she said; "you certainly
wouldn't while I had any say in the matter. You're rather a good farmer,
but I haven't met one yet who made a successful speculator. Some of our
friends have tried it--and you know where it landed them. I expect those
broker and mortgage men must lick their lips when a nice fat woolly
farmer comes along. It must be quite delightful to shear him."
Hastings laughed. "I should like to point out that most of the farmers
in this country are decidedly thin, and have uncommonly little wool on
them." Then he turned to the others. "I feel inclined to tell you how
Mrs. Hastings made the expenses of her Paris trip; it's an example of
feminine consistency. She went around the neighborhood and bought up all
the wheat anybody had left on hand, or, at least, she made me do it."
Mrs. Hastings, who had means of her own, nodded. "That was different,"
she declared; "anyway, I had the wheat, and I--knew--it would go up."
"Then why shouldn't other folks sell forward, for instance, when they
know it will go down? That's not what I suggested doing, but the point's
the same."
"They haven't got the wheat."
"Of course; they wouldn't operate for a fall if they had. On the other
hand, if their anticipations proved correct, they could buy it for less
than they sold at before they had to deliver."
"That," asserted Mrs. Hastings severely, "is pure gambling. It's sure to
land one in the hands of the mortgage jobber."
Hastings smiled at the others. "As a matter of fact, it not infrequently
does, but I want you to note the subtle distinction. The thing's quite
legitimate if you've only got the wheat in a bag. In such a case you
must naturally operate for a rise."
"There's a good deal to be said for that point of view," observed
Sproatly. "You can keep the wheat if you're not satisfied, but when you
try the other plan the margin that may vanish at any moment is the
danger. I suppose Gregory has still been selling the Range wheat,
Winifred?"
"I believe we have sent on every bushel."
Sproatly exchanged a significant glance with Hastings, whose face once
more grew thoughtful.
"Then," remarked Hastings, "if he's wise he'll stop at that."
Mrs. Hastings changed the subject, and drew her chair closer in to the
stove, which snapped and crackled cheerfully.
"It must be a lot colder where Harry is," she said with a shiver.
She flashed a swift glance at Agatha, and saw the girl's expression
change, but Sproatly broke in again.
"It was bad enough driving in from the railroad this afternoon," he
said. "Winifred was almost frozen. That is why I didn't go round for the
pattern mat--I think that's what Creighton said it was--Mrs. Creighton
borrowed from you. I met him at the settlement a day or two ago."
Mrs. Hastings said that he could bring it another time, and while the
rest talked of something else Winifred turned to Agatha.
"It really was horribly cold, and I almost fancied one of my hands was
frost-nipped," she said. "As it happens, I can't buy mittens like your
new ones."
"My new ones?" questioned Agatha.
"The ones Gregory bought you."
Agatha laughed. "My dear, he never gave me any."
Winifred looked puzzled. "Well," she persisted, "he certainly bought
them, and a fur cap, too. I was in the store when he did it, though I
don't think he noticed me. They were lovely mittens--such a pretty brown
fur."
Just then Mrs. Hastings, unobserved by either of them, looked up and
caught Sproatly's eye. His face became suddenly expressionless, and he
looked away.
"When was that?" Agatha asked.
"A fortnight ago, anyway."
Agatha sat silent, and was glad when Mrs. Hastings asked Winifred a
question. She desired no gifts from Gregory, but since he had bought the
cap and mittens she wondered what he could have done with them. It was
disconcerting to feel that, while he evidently meant to hold her to her
promise, he must have given them to somebody else. She had never heard
of his acquaintance with Sally Creighton, but it struck her as curious
that although the six months' delay he had granted her had lately
expired, he had neither sent her any word nor called at the homestead.
A few minutes later Mrs. Hastings took up a basket of sewing and moved
towards the door. Sproatly, who rose as she approached him, drew aside
his chair, and she handed the basket to him.
"You can carry it if you like," she said.
Sproatly took the basket, and followed her into another room, where he
sat it down.
"Well?" he said, with a twinkle in his eyes.
Mrs. Hastings regarded him thoughtfully. "I wonder if you know what
Gregory did with those mittens?"
"I'm rather pleased that I can assure that I don't."
"Do you imagine that he kept them?"
"I'm afraid I haven't an opinion on that point."
"Still, if I said that I felt certain he had given them to somebody you
would have some idea as to who it would probably be?"
"Well," confessed Sproatly reluctantly, "if you insist upon it, I must
admit that I could make a guess."
Mrs. Hastings smiled in a manner which suggested comprehension. "So
could I," she said. "I shouldn't wonder if we both guessed right. Now
you may as well go back to the others."
Sproatly, who made no answer, turned away, and he was talking to Agatha
when, half an hour later, a wagon drew up outside the door. In another
minute or two he leaned forward in amused expectation as Sally walked
into the room.
"I'm going on to Lander's, and just called to bring back the mat you
lent us," she said to Mrs. Hastings. "Sproatly was to have come for it,
but he didn't?"
Sproatly, who said he was sorry, fixed his eyes on her. It was clear to
him that Agatha did not understand the situation, but he fancied that
Sally was filled with an almost belligerent satisfaction. She was
wearing a smart fur cap, and in one hand she carried a pair of new fur
mittens which she had just taken off. Sproatly, who glanced at them,
noticed that Winifred did the same. Then Mrs. Hastings spoke.
"I don't think you have met Miss Ismay, Sally," she said.
Sally merely acknowledged that she had not been introduced, and Sproatly
became more sure that the situation was an interesting one, when Mrs.
Hastings formally presented her. It was clear to him that Agatha was
somewhat puzzled by Sally's attitude.
As a matter of fact, Agatha, who said that she must have had a cold
drive, was regarding the new arrival with a curiosity that she had not
expected to feel when the girl first came in. Miss Creighton, she
admitted, was comely, though she was clearly somewhat primitive and
crude. The long skin coat she wore hid her figure, but her pose was too
virile; and there was a look which mystified Agatha in her eyes. It was
almost openly hostile, and there was a suggestion of triumph in it.
Agatha, who could find no possible reason for this, resented it.
Sally had remained standing, and, as she said nothing further, there was
an awkward silence. She was the dominant figure in the room, and the
others became sensible of a slight constraint and embarrassment as she
gazed at Agatha with unwavering eyes. In fact, it was rather a relief to
them when at last she turned to Mrs. Hastings.
"I can't stop. It wouldn't do to leave the team in this frost," said
she.
This was so evident that they let her go, and Mrs. Hastings, who went
with her to the door, afterwards sat down beside Sproatly a little apart
from the rest.
"I've no doubt you noticed those mittens," she commented softly.
"I did," Sproatly admitted. "I think you can rely upon my discretion. If
you hadn't wanted this assurance I don't suppose you'd have said
anything upon the subject. It, however, seems very probable that
Winifred noticed them, too."
"Does that mean you're not sure that Winifred's discretion is equal to
your own?"
Sproatly's eyes twinkled. "In this particular case the trouble is that
she's animated by a sincere attachment to Miss Ismay, and has, I
understand, a rather poor opinion of Gregory. Of course, I don't know
how far your views on that point coincide with hers."
"Do you expect me to explain them to you?"
"No," answered Sproatly, "I'm only anxious to keep out of the thing.
Gregory is a friend of mine, and, after all, he has his strong points. I
should, however, like to mention that Winifred's expression suggests
that she's thinking of something."
Mrs. Hastings smiled. "Then I must endeavor to have a word or two with
her."
She left him with this, and not long afterwards she and Winifred went
out together. When the others were retiring she detained Agatha for a
minute or two in the empty room.
"Haven't the six months Gregory gave you run out yet?" she asked.
Agatha said they had, but she spoke in a careless tone and it was
evident that she had attached no particular significance to the fact
that Sally had worn a new fur cap.
"He hasn't been over to see you since."
The girl, who admitted it, looked troubled. Mrs. Hastings laid a hand
upon her shoulder.
"My dear," she said, "if he does come you must put him off."
"Why?" Agatha asked, in a low, strained voice.
"For one thing, because we want to keep you." Mrs. Hastings looked at
her with a very friendly smile. "Are you very anxious to make it up with
Gregory?" A shiver ran through the girl. "Oh," she exclaimed, "I can't
answer you that! I must do what is right!"
To her astonishment, Mrs. Hastings drew her a little nearer, stooped and
kissed her.
"Most of us, I believe, have that wish, but the thing is often horribly
complex," she said. "Anyway, you must put Gregory off again, if it's
only for another month or two. I fancy you will not find it difficult."
She turned away, thus ending the conversation, but her manner had been
so significant that Agatha, who did not sleep well that night, decided,
if it was possible, to act on the well-meant advice.
It happened that a little dapper man who was largely interested in the
land agency and general mortgage business spent that evening with
Hawtrey in Wyllard's room at the Range. He had driven around by
Hawtrey's homestead earlier in the afternoon, and had deduced a good
deal from the state of it, though this was a point he kept to himself.
Now he lay on a lounge chair beside the stove smoking one of Wyllard's
cigars and unobtrusively watching his companion. There was a roll of
bills in his pocket with which Gregory had very reluctantly parted.
"In view of the fall in wheat it must have been rather a pull for you to
pay me that interest," he remarked.
"It certainly was," Hawtrey admitted with a rueful smile. "I'm sorry it
had to be done."
"I don't quite see how you made it," persisted the other man. "What you
got for your wheat couldn't have done much more than cover working
expenses."
Hawtrey laughed. He was quite aware that his visitor's profession was
not one that was regarded with any great favor by the prairie farmers,
but he was never particularly cautious, and he rather liked the man.
"As a matter of fact, it didn't, Edmonds," he confessed. "You see, I
practically paid you out of what I get for running this place. The red
wheat Wyllard raises generally commands a cent or two a bushel more from
the big milling people than anything put on the market round here."
Edmonds made a sign of agreement. He had without directly requesting him
to do so led Hawtrey into showing him around the Range that afternoon,
and having of necessity a practical knowledge of farming he had been
impressed by all that he had noticed. The farm, which was a big one, had
evidently been ably managed until a recent date, and he felt the
strongest desire to get his hands on it. This, as he knew, would have
been out of the question had Wyllard been at home, but with Hawtrey,
upon whom he had a certain hold, in charge, the thing appeared by no
means impossible.
"Oh, yes," he replied. "I suppose he was reasonably liberal over your
salary."
"I don't get one. I take a share of the margin after everything is
paid."
Edmonds carefully noted this. He was not sure that such an arrangement
would warrant one in regarding Hawtrey as Wyllard's partner, but he
meant to gather a little more information upon that point.
"If wheat keeps on dropping there won't be any margin at all next year,
and that's what I'm inclined to figure on," he declared. "There are,
however, ways a man with nerve could turn it to account."
"You mean by selling wheat down."
"Yes," said Edmonds, "that's just what I mean. Of course, there is a
certain hazard in the thing. You can never be quite sure how the market
will go, but the signs everywhere point to still cheaper wheat next
year."
"That's your view?"
Edmonds smiled, and took out of his pocket a little bundle of market
reports.
"Other folks seem to share it in Winnipeg, Chicago, New York, and
Liverpool. You can't get behind these stock statistics, though, of
course, dead low prices are apt to cut the output."
Hawtrey read the reports with evident interest. All were in the same
pessimistic strain, and he could not know that the money-lender had
carefully selected them with a view to the effect he hoped to produce.
Edmonds, who saw the interest in Hawtrey's eyes, leaned towards him
confidentially when he spoke again.
"I don't mind admitting that I'm taking a hand in a big bear operation,"
he said. "It's rather outside my usual business, but the thing looks
almost certain."
Hawtrey glanced at him with a gleam in his eyes. There was no doubt that
the prospect of acquiring money by an easier method than toiling in the
rain and wind appealed to him.
"If it's good enough for you it should be safe," he remarked. "The
trouble is that I've nothing to put in."
"Then you're not empowered to lay out Wyllard's money. If that was the
case it shouldn't be difficult to pile up a bigger margin than you're
likely to do by farming."
Hawtrey started, for the idea had already crept into his mind.
"In a way, I am, but I'm not sure that I'm warranted in operating on the
market with it."
"Have you the arrangement you made with him in writing?"
Hawtrey opened a drawer, and Edmonds betrayed no sign of the
satisfaction he felt when he was handed an informally worded document.
He perused it carefully, and it seemed to him that it constituted
Hawtrey a partner in the Range, which was satisfactory. He looked up
thoughtfully.
"Now," he said, "while I naturally can't tell what Wyllard contemplated,
this paper certainly gives you power to do anything you think advisable
with his money. In any case, I understand that he can't be back until
well on in next year."
"I shouldn't expect him until late in the summer, anyway."
There was silence for a moment or two, and during it Hawtrey's face grew
set. It was unpleasant to look forward to the time when he would be
required to relinquish the charge of the Range, and of late he had been
wondering how he could make the most of the situation. Then Edmonds
spoke again.
"It's almost certain that the operation I suggested can result only one
way, and it appears most unlikely that Wyllard would raise any trouble
if you handed him several thousand dollars over and above what you had
made by farming. I can't imagine a man objecting to that kind of thing."
Hawtrey sat still with indecision in his eyes for half a minute, and
Edmonds, who was too wise to say anything, leaned back in his chair.
Then Hawtrey turned to the drawer again with an air of sudden
resolution.
"I'll give you a check for a couple of thousand dollars, which is as far
as I care to go just now," he announced with studied carelessness.
He took a pen, and Edmonds watched him with quiet amusement as he wrote.
As a matter of fact, Hawtrey was in one respect, at least, perfectly
safe in entrusting the money to him. Edmonds had deprived a good many
prairie farmers of their possessions in his time, but he never stooped
to any crude trickery. He left that to the smaller fry. Just then he was
playing a deep and cleverly thought-out game.
He pocketed the check that Hawtrey gave him, and then discussed other
subjects for half an hour or so before he rose to go.
"You might ask them to get my team out. I've some business at Lander's
and have ordered a room there," he said. "I'll send you a line when
there's any change in the market."