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Updated: June 5, 2025
"Sell a thousand May at one-fifty," vociferated the bear-broker, throwing out his hand, one finger raised to indicate the number of "contracts" offered. This time it was evident that he was attacking the Hornung crowd deliberately, for, ignoring the jam of traders that swept toward him, he looked across the pit to where Going and Kimbark were shouting "Sold! Sold!" and nodded his head.
Sellyer, and his face almost broke into a laugh as he answered, "here's an excellent thing Golden Dreams quite the most humorous book of the season simply screaming my wife was reading it aloud only yesterday. She could hardly read for laughing." "What's the price, one dollar? One-fifty. All right, wrap it up." There was a clink of money on the counter, and the customer was gone.
Smith, you'll never make money, except by hard graft hard, bullocking, nigger-driving graft like we had on that damned railway section for the last six months, up to our knees in water all winter, and all for a paltry cheque of one-fifty twenty of that gone already. How do you expect to make money in this country if you won't take anything for granted, except hard cash?
"If you think yo're going to skin me outen three-fifty, one-fifty, or one measly cent, you need some medicine, an' I'll give it to you in pill form! You'd make a bum-looking angel, so get up an' hand over that cayuse, an' do it damned quick!" "Three-fifty, an' two bits extry for feed. It'll cost you 'bout a dollar a day for feed.
They were closer spaced, too, as they come nearer, an' I reckon there wasn't more'n fifty or sixty yards atween the last two or three bursts. An' we was still walkin' on, every man wi' his reins short an' feelin' 'is 'orse's mouth, an' his knees grippin' the saddle hard. "Bang!" one hits the road about one-fifty to two hundred yards short an' we heard chips o' it whizz an' hum past us.
But not ten minutes after the opening, Going was surprised out of all countenance to hear shouted from the other side of the pit these words: "Sell May at one-fifty." Going was for the moment touching elbows with Kimbark on one side and with Merriam on the other, all three belonging to the "Hornung crowd." Their answering challenge of "Sold" was as the voice of one man.
"Bought it from us at one-ten, and made us buy it back our own wheat at one-fifty." Hornung and his broker looked at each other in silence for a moment. Then all at once Hornung struck the arm of his chair with his fist and exploded in a roar of laughter. The broker stared for one bewildered moment, then followed his example. "Sold! Sold!" shouted Hornung almost gleefully.
Colina said clearly: "The price is to be one-fifty per bushel." "That's what I thought," said Strange. "I will tell them." He went. "Ah, Colina!" cried Ambrose brokenly. She left the room slowly, as if he had not been there. Ambrose could not have told how he got out of the house. Ambrose lay in his tent with his head hidden in his arms, trying not to think. Job licked his hand unheeded.
Now my pants cost eighty-five cents, s'penders fifteen, hat twenty, shoes one-fifty; stockin's I don't bother about." He had his brother at a disadvantage, and he grew fluent and caustic as he went on, almost changing places with Howard, who took the rake out of the boy's hands and followed, raking up the scatterings. "Singular we fellers here are discontented and mulish, am't it?
He told Ambrose that he had come that morning and found him gone. He had come back to tell him what the white man already knew that, though Gaviller had been laid low by a mysterious stroke, he had sent word from his sick-bed that he would pay no more than one-fifty for wheat. "The men are moch mad," Tole went on in his matter-of-fact way. "They not listen to my fat'er no more. Say he too old.
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