‚ÄúOf course‚ÅÝ‚Äîmines could be monopolized and hold the trust up; but our raw material is perfectly safe‚ÅÝ‚Äîfarms growing smaller, farms isolated, and we fixing the price. It‚Äôs a cinch.‚Äù
“Are you sure?” Taylor surveyed him with a narrowed look.
“Certain.”
“I’m not. I’ve been looking up things, and there are three points you’d better study: First, cotton farms are not getting smaller; they’re getting bigger almighty fast, and there’s a big cotton-land monopoly in sight. Second, the banks and wholesale houses in the South can control the cotton output if they work together. Third, watch the Southern ‘Farmers’ League’ of big landlords.”
Mr. ¬ÝEasterly threw away his cigar and sat down. Taylor straightened up, switched on the porch light, and took a bundle of papers from his coat pocket.
“Here are census figures,” he said, “commercial reports and letters.” They pored over them a half hour. Then Easterly arose.
“There’s something in it,” he admitted, “but what can we do? What do you propose?”
“Monopolize the growth as well as the manufacture of cotton, and use the first to club European manufacturers into submission.”
Easterly stared at him.
“Good Lord!” he ejaculated; “you’re crazy!”
But Taylor smiled a slow, thin smile, and put away his papers. Easterly continued to stare at his subordinate with a sort of fascination, with the awe that one feels when genius unexpectedly reveals itself from a source