again to the blackboard, not hurriedly this time, and spoke in a casual manner to the telegrapher. The telegrapher made no vocal response; but all at once the quotations began to go up on the board. Jumper returned to Dreadwind and sat down.
“Now, I don’t want you to think I run this place crooked,” he said. “I don’t. It’s straight. There’s no use trying to fool you. We talk the same language. What I’m saying is honest. I never stopped the quotations that way before. I wouldn’t. But you had me where I couldn’t help myself. You know yourself how that is.”
Dreadwind nodded his head. Jumper went on.
“Of course you do. I’d ‘a’ gone up the flue in a minute. No, sir, when I started here I made up my mind to play it on the level. Why not? They lose their money anyhow. I couldn’t do anything to quotations that would make them lose it any faster. I’m satisfied. Maybe you’re in this line yourself?”
“Not exactly,” said Dreadwind.
“I don’t quite get you yet,” said Jumper. “But I know the kind of man you are, and you know all about this game, don’t you?”
“Something,” said Dreadwind modestly.
“Well, as I see it, it’s all right,” said Jumper. “As I say, they will lose their money anyhow. They would lose it just the same if we sent their orders to Chicago to be executed regular, like they think we do. The only difference would be then that them big Chicago gamblers, them Dreadwinds and others, would get it. They don’t need it and we do. When we get it we spend it here in the town. I’ve just built a house here. That’s what I mean. Suppose I sent their orders to the Chicago Board of Trade instead of sticking them on a spike back of that partition. That money I built a house with would have gone to Chicago, wouldn’t it? As it is it stays here in the community. That’s better. And what difference does it make to them? Not a bit of difference. They would lose it anyhow. I’ve thought this all out because I’m honest.”
“Do farmers trade with you much?” asked Dreadwind.
“They’re my best customers.”
“And they always lose?”
“That’s what I’m telling you. Not the farmers only. I’ve never seen a man beat the game yet, not in the long run. All you have to do is keep on with him and you get his money. Maybe you can beat it. I don’t know. I think maybe you can. That’s why I was so scared. But the farmers—you were speaking of them—it’s funny. They never do but one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Buy, buy, buy. They don’t know anything else. Sometimes I feel like saying to them: ‘You make it, don’t you? You grow it, don’t you? You take all the risk to begin with. Then you come in here and buy it as a gamble.’ I don’t understand them. If I was a farmer I’d never do anything but sell, if I gambled at all, and I wouldn’t. But that would be logical, wouldn’t it? I feel like telling them sometimes. But I don’t. What’s the use? They’d lose it anyhow.”
He sighed for the foibles of mankind. Dreadwind rose. They shook hands.
“Thanks,” said Jumper for the last time. “I was never wrong about a man yet.”
The old man was gone. Dreadwind had not seen him go, and he was disappointed, for he meant to have contact with him. He strolled about the streets on the chance of finding him again; but he had vanished, and casual inquiries were of no avail. “It’s a whim only,” said Dreadwind, “not worth remembering.” Still, he did remember it and kept thinking about it as he proceeded to act on the project that had formed in his mind on leaving the grain elevator.
In the middle of the afternoon you might have seen him on the highway, made out in the rig he had furnished himself with in the town—stout shoes, leggings, khaki trousers, a flannel shirt and soft hat. He carried a stick cut from a wayside hedge and had on his back an army knapsack stenciled U. S. A. People nodded pleasantly as he passed and he nodded
“Now, I don’t want you to think I run this place crooked,” he said. “I don’t. It’s straight. There’s no use trying to fool you. We talk the same language. What I’m saying is honest. I never stopped the quotations that way before. I wouldn’t. But you had me where I couldn’t help myself. You know yourself how that is.”
Dreadwind nodded his head. Jumper went on.
“Of course you do. I’d ‘a’ gone up the flue in a minute. No, sir, when I started here I made up my mind to play it on the level. Why not? They lose their money anyhow. I couldn’t do anything to quotations that would make them lose it any faster. I’m satisfied. Maybe you’re in this line yourself?”
“Not exactly,” said Dreadwind.
“I don’t quite get you yet,” said Jumper. “But I know the kind of man you are, and you know all about this game, don’t you?”
“Something,” said Dreadwind modestly.
“Well, as I see it, it’s all right,” said Jumper. “As I say, they will lose their money anyhow. They would lose it just the same if we sent their orders to Chicago to be executed regular, like they think we do. The only difference would be then that them big Chicago gamblers, them Dreadwinds and others, would get it. They don’t need it and we do. When we get it we spend it here in the town. I’ve just built a house here. That’s what I mean. Suppose I sent their orders to the Chicago Board of Trade instead of sticking them on a spike back of that partition. That money I built a house with would have gone to Chicago, wouldn’t it? As it is it stays here in the community. That’s better. And what difference does it make to them? Not a bit of difference. They would lose it anyhow. I’ve thought this all out because I’m honest.”
“Do farmers trade with you much?” asked Dreadwind.
“They’re my best customers.”
“And they always lose?”
“That’s what I’m telling you. Not the farmers only. I’ve never seen a man beat the game yet, not in the long run. All you have to do is keep on with him and you get his money. Maybe you can beat it. I don’t know. I think maybe you can. That’s why I was so scared. But the farmers—you were speaking of them—it’s funny. They never do but one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Buy, buy, buy. They don’t know anything else. Sometimes I feel like saying to them: ‘You make it, don’t you? You grow it, don’t you? You take all the risk to begin with. Then you come in here and buy it as a gamble.’ I don’t understand them. If I was a farmer I’d never do anything but sell, if I gambled at all, and I wouldn’t. But that would be logical, wouldn’t it? I feel like telling them sometimes. But I don’t. What’s the use? They’d lose it anyhow.”
He sighed for the foibles of mankind. Dreadwind rose. They shook hands.
“Thanks,” said Jumper for the last time. “I was never wrong about a man yet.”
The old man was gone. Dreadwind had not seen him go, and he was disappointed, for he meant to have contact with him. He strolled about the streets on the chance of finding him again; but he had vanished, and casual inquiries were of no avail. “It’s a whim only,” said Dreadwind, “not worth remembering.” Still, he did remember it and kept thinking about it as he proceeded to act on the project that had formed in his mind on leaving the grain elevator.
In the middle of the afternoon you might have seen him on the highway, made out in the rig he had furnished himself with in the town—stout shoes, leggings, khaki trousers, a flannel shirt and soft hat. He carried a stick cut from a wayside hedge and had on his back an army knapsack stenciled U. S. A. People nodded pleasantly as he passed and he nodded
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