"Rising price of cotton, you mean," Harry corrected.
"Oh, temporarily," John Taylor admitted.
"Precisely, and thus postpone the decision."
"No, Mr. Cresswell. I'm offering to let you in on the ground floor--now--not next year, or year after."
"Mr. Taylor, have you any money in this?"
"Everything I've got."
"Well, the thing is this way: if you can prove to us that conditions are as you say, we're in for it."
"Good! Meet me in New York, say--let's see, this is March tenth--well, May third."
Young Cresswell was thinking rapidly. This man without doubt represented money. He was anxious for an alliance. Why? Was it all straight, or did the whole move conceal a trick?
His eyes strayed to the porch where his pretty sister sat languidly, and then toward the school where the other sister lived. John Taylor looked out on the porch, too. They glanced quickly at each other, and each wondered if the other had shared his thought. Harry Cresswell did not voice his mind for he was not wholly disposed to welcome what was there; but he could not refrain from saying in tones almost confidential: "You could recommend this deal, then, could you--to your own friends?"
"To my own family," asserted John Taylor, looking at Harry Cresswell with sudden interest. But Mr. Cresswell was staring at the end of his cigar.