Slowly the blood crept out of his white face leaving it whiter, and went surging and pounding in his heart. Poverty‚ÅÝ‚Äîthat was what those figures spelled. Poverty‚ÅÝ‚Äîunclothed, wineless poverty, to dig and toil like a ‚Äúnigger‚Äù from morning until night, and to give up horses and carriages and women; that was what they spelled.
‚ÄúHow much‚ÅÝ‚Äîfarther will it drop?‚Äù he asked harshly.
Taylor did not look up.
‚ÄúCan‚Äôt tell,‚Äù he said, ‚Äú‚Ää‚Äôfraid not much though.‚Äù He glanced through a telegram. ‚ÄúNo‚ÅÝ‚Äîdamn it!‚ÅÝ‚Äîoutside mills are low; they‚Äôll stampede soon. Meantime we‚Äôll buy.‚Äù
‚ÄúBut, Taylor‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
“Here are one hundred thousand offered at six and three-fourths.”
‚ÄúI tell you, Taylor‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù Cresswell half arose.
“Done!” cried Taylor. “Six and one-half,” clicked the machine.
Cresswell arose from his chair by the window and came slowly to the wide flat desk where Taylor was working feverishly. He sat down heavily in the chair opposite and tried quietly to regain his self-control. The liabilities of the Cresswells already amounted to half the value of their property, at a fair market valuation. The cotton for which they had made debts was still falling in value. Every fourth of a cent fall meant‚ÅÝ‚Äîhe figured it again tremblingly‚ÅÝ‚Äîmeant one hundred thousand more of liabilities.