Winston nodded as he took a chair.  “I fancy I understand you, but I have nothing that you expect to hear to tell you, sir.”

“That,” said Barrington, “is unfortunate.  Now, it is not my business to pose as a censor of the conduct of any man here, except when it affects the community, but their friends have sent out a good many young English lads, some of whom have not been too discreet in the old country, to me.  They did not do so solely that I might teach them farming.  A charge of that kind is no light responsibility, and I look for assistance from the men who have almost as large a stake as I have in the prosperity of Silverdale.”

“Have you ever seen me do anything you could consider prejudicial to it?” asked Winston.

“I have not,” said Colonel Barrington.

“And it was by her own wish Miss Barrington, who, I fancy, is seldom mistaken, asked me to the Grange?”

“It is a good plea,” said Barrington.  “I cannot question anything my sister does.”

“Then we will let it pass, though I am afraid you will consider what I am going to ask a further presumption.  You have forward wheat to deliver, and find it difficult to obtain it?”

Barrington’s smile was somewhat grim.  “In both cases you have surmised correctly.”

Winston nodded.  “Still, it is not mere inquisitiveness, sir.  I fancy I am the only man at Silverdale who can understand your difficulties, and, what is more to the point, suggest a means of obviating them.  You still expect to buy at lower prices before the time to make delivery comes?”

Again the care crept into Barrington’s face, and he sat silent for almost a minute.  Then he said, very slowly, “I feel that I should resent the question, but I will answer.  It is what I hope to do.”

“Well,” said Winston, “I am afraid you will find prices higher still.  There is very little wheat in Minnesota this year, and what there was in Dakota was cut down by hail.  Millers in St. Paul and Minneapolis are anxious already, and there is talk of a big corner in Chicago.  Nobody is offering grain, while you know what land lies fallow in Manitoba, and the activity of their brokers shows the fears of Winnipeg millers with contracts on hand.  This is not my opinion alone.  I can convince you from the papers and market reports I see before you.”

Barrington could not controvert the unpleasant truth he was still endeavoring to shut his eyes to.  “The demand from the East may slacken,” he said.

Winston shook his head.  “Russia can give them nothing.  There was a failure in the Indian monsoon, and South American crops were small.  Now, I am going to take a further liberty.  How much are you short?”

Barrington was never sure why he told him, but he was hard pressed then, and there was a quiet forcefulness about the younger man that had its effect on him.

“That,” he said, holding out a document, “is the one contract I have not covered.”