Late that afternoon Cappy Ricks graciously summoned the Chronicle
reporter to his office and told him in detail all he knew about the
Australian wheat invasion.
“Of course,” he added, “this may be mere street gossip; but I think
there's something in it, my boy. At any rate, I thought you might care
to be tipped off to the situation. It looks like a corking story to me.
I suggest that you call up Ford & Carter and see what they have to say
about it.”
“I wonder whether the Examiner reporter has a tip on this?” the
Chronicle man queried hopefully.
“Not from me. This story is for you, young man. That's why I called you
down to my office.”
About the same hour J. Augustus Redell might have been seen at the press
table on 'Change, unfolding a similar story to the market reporter
of the Examiner, who thought it was a humdinger of a story, and so
declared.
“All right. Glad you think so,” Mr. Redell replied, beaming upon him.
“And just to show you I'm right, I'll not breathe a word of it to the
Chronicle man.”
Having planted his journalistic bomb, Mr. Redell glanced at his watch.
It was exactly eleven o'clock. “I still have time,” he murmured, and
departed immediately to the office of Gregg of December wheat, but to
cease selling the instant the market hesitated to absorb it or the price
broke a point. At the same moment, in another brokerage office, Cappy
Ricks was issuing a similar order. Before the market closed, Cappy had
succeeded in selling a hundred and eighty thousand bushels, while Redell
had disposed of a hundred and thirty. Evidently the bears took it as it
came, for the market closed strong at $1.89.
Neither Cappy nor Redell reported at his office the following day. At
the hour when the market opened in Chicago both schemers appeared on
the floor of the Merchants' Exchange and bent their gaze upon the
only blackboard on 'Change they had not heretofore honored with
their scrutiny--the board in back of the Grain Pit, which carried the
quotations on the Chicago Board of Trade, already beginning to come in
by wire.
For an hour the trading was inactive. Then suddenly the price broke
half a point as somebody tossed a lot of fifty thousand bushels on
the market. Cappy and Redell each wondered whether he might not be the
responsible party; and while they pondered somebody unloaded a hundred
thousand bushels at $1.88. Cappy gasped as the quotations appeared on
the blackboard.
“Something doing, Gus!” he whispered; Redell nodded.
And now commenced a period of wild trading. The price crept back to
$1.89, only to be assaulted and beaten back to $1.87; then, fraction
by fraction and point by point, the price fell; and J. Augustus Redell
wagged his head approvingly.
“They have received our message,” he said. “The riot is on!”
When the price had been beaten down to $1.83 Cappy turned to his
associate.
“I'm through!” he said. “Time to cover my shorts.” And he trotted away
to a telephone booth.
As for Redell, he would not intrust his fortune to a telephonic order,
but sprang into 'his runabout, parked at the curb outside the Exchange,
and scorched uptown to Gregg & Co.'s offices, where he learned that he
had sold four hundred and ten thousand bushels of December wheat. One
hundred thousand had been sold at $1.90, two hundred and eighty thousand
at prices varying from $1.89 to $1.88 1/8, and the remainder at 1.88.
“Buy me four hundred and ten thousand bushels at the market,” he
ordered.
Before he left the office the sale had been confirmed and Mr. Redell's
shorts had been covered at a price ranging from $1.83 to $1.83 5/8,
whereupon he closed out his trade and received a check for his margin
and his profits. An hour later he met Cappy Ricks again on 'Change.
“Well, Cappy?” he queried.
“I cleaned up, thank you,” the old gentleman informed him. “Sold,
bought, and got the money. This is one time it rained duck soup and I
was there with a bucket.”
He prodded Mr. Redell playfully in the short ribs and the incident was
closed. They had made a profit of more than twenty thousand dollars
each; and when each returned to his office he forgot all about December
wheat until half past five that evening, when both met on the deserted
floor of the exchange to scan the blackboard. December wheat had closed
that day at $1.83! Two days later J. Augustus Redell called Cappy Ricks
on the telephone.
“That you, Cappy?”
“Yep!”
“Redell speaking. Read the story on the front page of the Chronicle this
morning?”
“No; what was it?”
“The British Government has placed an embargo on the exportation of
wheat from Australia; so all those eighteen charters I negotiated with
Ford were placed with Ford & Carter subject to Ford & Carter's ability
to make delivery and to prior sale. Before Ford & Carter could make
them firm orders and get in over their heads, I tipped them off to the
possibility of this government embargo.”
“You tipped them off! How did you know the British Government was going
to clap an embargo on Australian wheat?”
“Why, I didn't know,” Redell confessed. “I just guessed it would; so
I advised Ford than I did--and I made a trifle more than twenty-four
thousand dollars.”
“Is that so? Well, listen to me tell it; When you and I cashed in that
day our deal was closed wasn't it?”
“Yes.”
“And I'd played fair with you?”
“You certainly did, Gus.”
“Then I was freed from any further obligations to take you into
partnership with me, was I not?”
“That's how I figure it, my boy.”
“That's how I figured it also, Cappy. Consequently, being morally
certain that the British Government would place an embargo on the
exportation of Australian wheat--Cappy, you must admit that the British
Government would have been absolutely crazy if it hadn't--I just called
on Gregg & Co. and bought another half million bushels of December wheat
at $1.83 to $1.84 a bushel. Then I sat tight and waited for that embargo
story to break. Cappy, do you know that story just raised hell on the
Chicago Pit today? The bears were caught napping; and the bulls got busy
and kicked the price up to $1.90 again, at which figure I unloaded and
took my profit.”
“You amazing rascal! Why didn't you tip your partner off to that deal?”
“We were no longer partners. You admitted that a moment ago. When I
first outlined this scheme I didn't have a dollar to spare with which I
could speculate. Every last cent was tied up in the business of the
West Coast Trading Company. So I schemed to take you in as a partner on
one-half of the deal; and you not only financed me but guaranteed me to
the broker! Your introduction was all I wanted. After that my credit
was as good as December wheat; in consequence of which, without a cent
invested, I was actually enabled to carry a trade for half a million
bushels! Much obliged to you, Cappy. You're a fine old sport, and I
like you--I wouldn't be surprised if you laid off on me after this--eh,
Cappy?”
“Gus,” said Cappy Ricks, “one of these days the Democratic party is
going to wake up and discover that America isn't where they left it the
night before! And when that happens they're going to ask you about it,
you--you--infer-nal--”
The phone clicked. J. Augustus Redell had hung up.
“Drat it!--God bless him!” murmured Cappy Ricks--and hung up, too.