“Well, don’t you see what that means? It’s the European demand at last. They must have wheat, and I’ve got it to give ’em⁠—wheat that I bought, oh! at seventy cents, some of it, and they’ll pay the market that is, eighty cents, for it. Oh, they’ll pay more. They’ll pay eighty-two if I want ’em to. France is after the stuff, too. Remember that cable from Paris I just read. They’d bid against each other. Why, if I pull this off, if this goes through⁠—and, by George,” he went on, speaking as much to himself as to her, new phases of the affair presenting themselves to him at every moment, “by George, I don’t have to throw this wheat into the Pit and break down the price⁠—and Gretry has understandings with the railroads, through the elevator gang, so we get big rebates. Why, this wheat is worth eighty-two cents to them⁠—and then there’s this ‘curtailment in Argentine shipments.’ That’s the first word we’ve had about small crops there. Holy Moses, if the Argentine crop is off, wheat will knock the roof clean off the Board of Trade!” The maid reappeared in the doorway. “The buggy?” queried Jadwin. “All right. I’m off, Laura, and⁠—until it’s over keep quiet about all this, you know. Ask me to read you some more cables some day. It brings good luck.”