Straight into the turmoil and confusion of the Pit, into the scene of so many of his victories, came the “Great Bull.”  The news went flashing and flying from lip to lip.  The wheat Pit, torn and tossed and rent asunder, stood dismayed, so great had been his power.  What was about to happen?  Jadwin himself, the great man, in the Pit!  Had his enemies been too premature in their hope of his defeat?  For a second they hesitated, then moved by a common impulse, feeling the push of the wonderful new harvest behind them, gathered themselves together for the final assault, and again offered the wheat for sale—­offered it by thousands upon thousands of bushels.

Blind and insensate, Jadwin strove against the torrent of the wheat.  Under the stress and violence of the hour, something snapped in his brain; but he stood erect there in the middle of the Pit, iron to the end, proclaiming over the din of his enemies, like a bugle sounding to the charge of a forlorn hope.

“Give a dollar for July—­give a dollar for July!”

Then little by little the tumult of the Pit subsided.  There were sudden lapses in the shouting, and again the clamour would break out.

All at once the Pit, the entire floor of the Board of Trade, was struck dumb.  In the midst of the profound silence the secretary announced.  “All trades with Gretry & Co. must be closed at once!”

The words were greeted with a wild yell of exultation.  Beaten—­beaten at last, the Great Bull!  Smashed!  The great corner smashed!  Jadwin busted!  Cheer followed cheer, hats went into the air.  Men danced and leaped in a frenzy of delight.

Young Landry Court, who had stood by Jadwin in the Pit, led his defeated captain out.  Jadwin was in a daze—­he saw nothing, heard nothing, but submitted to Landry’s guidance.

From the Pit came the sound of dying cheers.

“They can cheer now all they want. They didn’t do it," said a man at the door.  “It was the wheat itself that beat him; no combination of men could have done it.”

IV.—­A Fresh Start

The evening had closed in wet and misty, and when Laura Jadwin came down to the dismantled library a heavy rain was falling.

“There, dear,” Laura said, “now sit down on the packing-box there.  You had better put your hat on.  It is full of draughts now that the furniture and curtains are out.  You’ve had a pretty bad siege of it, you know, and this is only the first week you’ve been up.”

“I’ve had too good a nurse,” he answered, stroking her hand, “not to be as fit as a fiddle by now.  You must be tired yourself, Laura.  Why, for whole days there—­and nights, too, they tell me—­you never left the room.”

Laura shook her head, and said: 

“I wonder what the West will be like.  Do you know I think I am going to like it, Curtis?”

“It will be starting in all over again, old girl.  Pretty hard at first, I’m afraid.”