The room was big and
bare. There were a few fine heads of antelope upon the walls, and
beneath them an armory of English-made shotguns and rifles, while a row
of silver-mounted riding crops, and some handled with ivory, stood in a
corner. All these represented amusement, while two or three treatises
on veterinary surgery and agriculture, lying amidst English stud-books
and racing records, presumably stood for industry. The comparison was
significant, and Graham, the Winnipeg wheat-broker, noticed it as he
listened patiently to the views of Colonel Barrington, who nevertheless
worked hard enough in his own fashion. Unfortunately it was rather the
fashion of the English gentleman than that common on the prairie.
"And now," he said, with a trace of the anxiety he had concealed in his
eyes, "I am open to hear what you can do for me."
Graham smiled a little. "It isn't very much, Colonel. I'll take all
your wheat off you at three cents down."
Now Barrington did not like the broker's smile. It savored too much of
equality, and, though he had already unbent as far as he was capable of
doing, he had no great esteem for men of business. Nor did it please
him to be addressed as "Colonel."
"That," he said coldly, "is out of the question. I would not sell at
the last market price. Besides, you have hitherto acted as my broker."
Graham nodded. "The market price will be less than what I offered you
in a week, and I could scarcely sell your wheat at it to-day.
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