“Well, that Russia will not export wheat, that she has no more than enough for herself, so that Western Europe will have to look to us for her wheat.”

“And the others? Read those to me.”

Again Jadwin translated.

“This is from Paris:

“ ‘Answer on one million bushels wheat in your market⁠—stocks lighter than expected, and being cleared up.’ ”

“Which is to say?” she queried.

“They want to know how much I would ask for a million bushels. They find it hard to get the stuff over there⁠—just as I said they would.”

“Will you sell it to them?”

“Maybe. I’ll talk to Sam about it.”

“And now the last one.”