“Well, then, at the end of August we found out that the wet weather in England would make a short crop there, and along in September came the news that Siberia would not raise enough to supply the southern provinces of Russia. That left only the United States and the Argentine Republic to feed pretty much the whole world. Of course that would make wheat valuable. Seems to be a short-crop year everywhere. I saw that wheat would go higher and higher, so I bought another million bushels in October, and another early in this month. That’s all. You see, I figure that pretty soon those people over in England and Italy and Germany⁠—the people that eat wheat⁠—will be willing to pay us in America big prices for it, because it’s so hard to get. They’ve got to have the wheat⁠—it’s bread ’n’ butter to them.”

“Oh, then why not give it to them?” she cried. “Give it to those poor people⁠—your five million bushels. Why, that would be a godsend to them.”

Jadwin stared a moment.

“Oh, that isn’t exactly how it works out,” he said.