The ticker whirred, ‚Äú8¬æ‚ÅÝ‚Äî9‚ÅÝ‚Äî9¬Ω‚ÅÝ‚Äî10.‚Äù Then it stopped dead.
‚ÄúExchange closed,‚Äù said Taylor. ‚ÄúWe‚Äôve cornered the market all right‚ÅÝ‚Äîcornered it‚ÅÝ‚Äîd‚Äôye hear, Cresswell? We got over half the crop and we can send prices to the North Star‚ÅÝ‚Äîyou‚ÅÝ‚Äîwhy, I figure it you Cresswells are worth at least seven hundred and fifty thousand above liabilities this minute,‚Äù and John Taylor leaned back and lighted a big black cigar.
“I’ve made a million or so myself,” he added reflectively.
Cresswell leaned back in his chair, his face had gone white again, and he spoke slowly to still the tremor in his voice.
‚ÄúI‚Äôve gambled‚ÅÝ‚Äîbefore; I‚Äôve gambled on cards and on horses; I‚Äôve gambled‚ÅÝ‚Äîfor money‚ÅÝ‚Äîand‚ÅÝ‚Äîwomen‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
“But not on cotton, hey? Well, I don’t know about cards and such; but they can’t beat cotton.”
“And say, John Taylor, you’re my friend.” Cresswell stretched his hand across the desk, and as he bent forward the pistol crashed to the floor.