TAKING UP THE OPTIONS.
Vance arrived at Omaha on the following morning and registered at the
Great Western Hotel, where he had breakfast.
Then he went to the reading-room and looked over the papers,
particularly noting the corn situation.
It was now time for him to be about his business.
He procured a large, oblong manilla envelope, in which he enclosed his
letter of instruction, all but one of his letters of introduction,
option vouchers and his check-book, and after removing a single
specific check marked by a perforated capital “A,” he sealed up the
package, addressed it to himself and deposited it in the hotel safe.
Then he sallied forth on the streets of Omaha.
The hotel clerk had directed him where to find the elevator buildings,
which were located at various points along the river front.
He took a car to the nearest point and then inquired his way to the
office of Flint, Peabody & Co., who controlled three of the elevators.
Their counting-room was in Elevator A.
“I should like to see Mr. Peabody,” he said to a clerk who asked him
his business.
“He is busy at present. Take a seat.”
After waiting half an hour he was shown into the private office.
“Mr. Peabody?” asked Vance of a little, white-haired old gentleman
seated at a mahogany desk alongside a window overlooking the Missouri
river.
“Yes; what can I do for you?”
Vance handed him his card, in one corner of which was printed Jared
Whitemore in small type.
“Mr. Thornton, eh?” exclaimed the busy head of the establishment,
regarding him with some surprise as he sized him up from head to foot.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ve been expecting a representative of Mr. Whitemore, as those corn
options expire at noon to-day. I am bound to say I looked for an older
person than you. I presume you have a power of attorney to act for
him?” said Mr. Peabody, holding out his hand.
Vance produced the paper, which the gentleman very carefully examined.
“How am I to know that you are really the person set forth in this
document--that you are actually Mr. Whitemore’s representative? It
may be a forgery, and you may be acting for people opposed to that
gentleman’s interests,” said Mr. Peabody sharply.
“I have a letter of introduction which ought to cover that point,”
answered Vance, promptly producing an envelope addressed to the person
he was talking to.
“Hum!” said Mr. Peabody, glancing it over. “Seems to be all right.
However, as his option is a large one covering grain in our three
elevators, I’ve got to be careful. Excuse me a moment.”
“Are you going to call up Mr. Whitemore?” asked Vance as the gentleman
rose from his desk.
“Why do you ask?” asked Mr. Peabody abruptly, casting a suspicious look
at the boy.
“Because, for business reasons he expressly desires that you should
call up Mr. Walcott of the Chicago National Bank and ask for him. He
does not want any communication at his office direct.”
“Very well,” replied the gentleman, who easily surmised Mr. Whitemore’s
reasons.
The elevator magnate entered a telephone booth at the end of the room
and sat there a matter of fifteen minutes.
“I am satisfied that you are Mr. Whitemore’s representative,” he said
as he reseated himself at his desk. “Now, young man, we will talk
business. Of course you don’t expect me to close with you except at the
market price?”
“I expect to settle with you at the price named in the option, less the
amount paid to secure it,” said Vance promptly.
“You ought to know that corn is several points above the figure stated
in the option. We cannot close on those terms.”
“Do I understand that you refuse to make a settlement of this
transaction according to the terms of the option?” asked Vance, rising
to his feet.
“Sit down, young man,” said the elevator magnate. “You have the voucher
for the option with you, I suppose?”
“Certainly.”
“I should like to see it.”
“You are prepared to redeem the option now, are you?” and Mr. Peabody
glanced at the clock, which indicated close on to the noon hour.
“Yes, sir.”
The gentleman considered the matter for several minutes, during which
he cast penetrating looks at Vance’s clear-cut, determined face.
“Does Mr. Whitemore propose to hold this corn in storage here?”
“I have no instructions as to its immediate removal,” replied Vance;
“that is all I can say.”
“Very well. Have you Mr. Whitemore’s check for the difference?”
“I have Mr. Whitemore’s signed check, made out to your order, which I
will hand you as soon as the amount has been computed.”
“It is possible there will be a difference in our figures,” said Mr.
Peabody, with a grim smile.
“That’s all right,” replied Vance, briskly. “The amount has been left
to me to fill in.”
“Eh?” exclaimed Mr. Peabody, in a tone of surprise.
Vance repeated his remark.
“By George, young man, he seems to place implicit confidence in you!”
and the head of the elevator firm once more looked Vance over, and with
some curiosity.
Mr. Peabody, having decided to close up the transaction on the terms
of the option, which he was legally bound to do, since Vance could
not be bluffed into accepting less favorable ones, the differences
were calculated, and the boy filled in the check designated as “A,”
requesting a receipt for the amount, which was immediately made out and
handed to him.
Mr. Whitemore thus became the owner of something over a million bushels
of corn stored in elevators A, B, and C.
This completed Vance’s business in Omaha.
On his way back to the hotel he stopped at the postoffice, and
forwarded to his employer, in care of the Chicago National Bank, the
receipt for the money covered by the check.
Then he went to dinner, after which he spent an hour viewing some of
the sights of the western city.
At four o’clock he took a cab for the Union Depot, bought a ticket for
Kansas City, and took his seat in a Pullman sleeper.
He arrived at his destination about midnight, drove to one of the
principal hotels and went to bed, after taking the precaution to
deposit his valuable papers in the office safe.
There were three different elevator firms he had to visit in this city.
He presented himself at the first at ten o’clock.
Here his youth was also unfavorably commented on in a transaction
which involved 600,000 bushels of grain, and the head of the firm was
inclined to hold off, until Vance insisted that he should communicate
with his employer in Chicago.
Not being able to get Mr. Walcott on the long-distance ’phone, Vance
suggested that he call up Flint, Peabody & Co., of Omaha.
The gentleman, after some demur, consented to do this, being personally
acquainted with Mr. Peabody, and the result of the confab was so
satisfactory that Vance completed his business with him, getting a call
on the corn, as the option did not expire until the next day.
At the offices of the other two elevators Vance had very little
trouble, his power of attorney and letters of introduction being
accepted without question, and no attempt being made to evade the terms
of the option.
“That winds up this town,” he said in a tone of satisfaction as he left
the last place. “It is easier than I expected. Now for the postoffice.”
He inquired the way there, purchased a stamped envelope, and sent off
the three receipts by registered mail, according to his instructions.
“I’ve got lots of time now, as the next option at Grainville does not
expire until Friday,” he reflected as he took a car for his hotel.
“Guess I’ll take in a show to-night.”
He reached the hotel in time for lunch.
While he was in the dining-room a smart, dapper-looking young man
entered the hotel rotunda and walked briskly up to the office counter.
Taking possession of the registry book, he glanced rapidly over the
day’s arrivals.
His nervous finger-tips paused for an instant at Vance Thornton’s name,
which, in clear handwriting, stood almost at the top of the first page.
The young man noted the number of the room to which the boy had been
assigned, and then glanced sharply at the numbered pigeon-holes where
the room keys were deposited.
“He’s here, all right,” he muttered, as he turned away with a singular
smile, “and is not in his room. He reached here early this morning, as
his name is right under the date. He ought to be an easy proposition
for Sadie to work. I must have those corn options and whatever
warehouse receipts he has secured. Old Whitemore was pretty slick to
send this young chap instead of Vyce, whom we depended on. But the old
fox is up against a crowd as slick as himself this time, and he’s
going to be squeezed good and hard.”
Thus speaking to himself, the dapper young man pulled a cigar from his
pocket, bit off the end, and lit it.
Then he walked over and seated himself in a chair that commanded a view
of the office.