profits was formally dropped by the Grain Growers' Grain Company. This
had been done at a directors' meeting on December 22nd (1906), when a
resolution had been passed, cancelling the proposal contained in the
objectionable circular.[3] But although the Exchange had been notified
immediately and repeated applications for reinstatement had been made,
the farmers' company was still struggling along in the throes of their
dilemma--proof positive, concluded the farmers, that the Grain Exchange
had used the co-operative suggestion as a mere pretext to oust the
Company from the field altogether.

In piled the wheat, car after car of it! A considerable portion of it
had been bought on track and farmers who had consigned their grain were
anxious, naturally, to have it disposed of without delay. With prices
going down and navigation on the point of closing, the best hopes of
the management became centred in getting a big shipment away to Buffalo
by boat. That would enable them to escape a big item in storage
charges and to place the grain in line for export at rates considerably
below the all-rail figures.

"With those bills of lading in the bank, we've no control of them and
the bank can do just about as it likes," reviewed the President one
night. "If they should come down on us to sell our wheat inside of
forty-eight hours--we're goners, boys! All that those fellows over at
the Exchange have got to do is to shove down the market thirty points
and our name is _mud_! The loss to the farmers who've shipped us their
grain will kill this movement and every one like it in the West for all
time to come. This company will be as dead as a doornail and so will
we financially as its bonded backers."

Kennedy was running a finger tentatively down the window-pane. It left
a streak in the forming frost.

"What I want to know is, how long ought it to take to load up this
whole boatload we're trying to move?"

"Oh, about seventeen hours or so."

"And how long have they been at it already? Five days, ain't it? And
she's not away yet! What d'you suppose that means?" he snapped. He
began to throw things into a grip. He made for the door.

"Where'n the mischief are you going, John?"

"Fort William--can just make the train if I hustle. The _J. P. Walsh_
gets out of that harbor with that wheat of ours, by Hickory!--if she
has to be chopped out with an axe!"

Two days later a telegram reached the little office:

_S.S.