oulder.

"We don't force you to ship. You can do as you like. The rate is five
cents."

"Well--but--damn you, I'm under contract to deliver. What am I going to
do? Why, you told me--you promised me a two-cent rate."

"I don't remember it," said the clerk. "I don't know anything about
that. But I know this; I know that hops have gone up. I know the German
crop was a failure and that the crop in New York wasn't worth the
hauling. Hops have gone up to nearly a dollar. You don't suppose we
don't know that, do you, Mr. Dyke?"

"What's the price of hops got to do with you?"

"It's got THIS to do with us," returned the other with a sudden
aggressiveness, "that the freight rate has gone up to meet the price.
We're not doing business for our health. My orders are to raise your
rate to five cents, and I think you are getting off easy."

Dyke stared in blank astonishment. For the moment, the audacity of
the affair was what most appealed to him. He forgot its personal
application.

"Good Lord," he murmured, "good Lord! What will you people do next? Look
here. What's your basis of applying freight rates, anyhow?" he suddenly
vociferated with furious sarcasm. "What's your rule? What are you guided
by?"

But at the words, S. Behrman, who had kept silent during the heat of the
discussion, leaned abruptly forward. For the only time in his knowledge,
Dyke saw his face inflamed with anger and with the enmity and contempt
of all this farming element with whom he was contending.

"Yes, what's your rule? What's your basis?" demanded Dyke, turning
swiftly to him.

S. Behrman emphasised each word of his reply with a tap of one
forefinger on the counter before him:

"All--the--traffic--will--bear."

The ex-engineer stepped back a pace, his fingers on the ledge of the
counter, to steady himself. He felt himself grow pale, his heart became
a mere leaden weight in his chest, inert, refusing to beat.

In a second the whole affair, in all its bearings, went speeding before
the eye of his imagination like the rapid unrolling of a panorama. Every
cent of his earnings was sunk in this hop business of his. More than
that, he had borrowed money to carry it on, certain of success--borrowed
of S. Behrman, offering his crop and his little home as security. Once
he failed to meet his obligations, S. Behrman would foreclose. Not only
would the Railroad devour every morsel of his profits, but also it would
take from him his home; at a blow he