"The fact's this,--and this is just between you and me, mind you; I don't know anything about it, it's only what I think,--somebody's buying a lot of December wheat, or the price wouldn't keep going up. And I've got a notion that, whoever he is, it's Page & Company that's selling it to him. That's just putting two and two together, you see. It's the real grain that the Pages handle, and if they sell to a man it means that they're going to make a mighty good try at unloading it on him and making him pay for it. That's all I know about it. I see the Pages selling--or what looks mighty like it--and I see them beginning to look around and talk on the quiet about crowding things a little on their new houses, and it just strikes me that there's likely to be a devil of a lot of wheat coming into Chicago before the year runs out; and if that's so, why, there's got to be a place to put it when it gets here." "Do they have to have an elevator to put it in?" asked Peterson. "Can't they deliver it in the cars? I don't know much about that side of the business." "I should say not. The Board of Trade won't recognize grain as delivered until it has been inspected and stored in a registered house." "When would the house have to be ready?" "Well, if I'm right, if they're going to put December wheat in this house, they'll have to have it in before the last day of December." "We couldn't do that," said Peterson, "if the cribbing was here." Bannon, who had stretched out on the bed, swung his feet around and sat up. The situation was not easy, but he had been sent to Calumet to get the work done in time, and he meant to do it. "Now, about this cribbing, Pete," he said; "we've got to have it before we can touch the annex?" "I guess that's about it," Peterson replied. "I've been figuring a little on this bill. I take it there's something over two million feet altogether. Is that right?" "It's something like that. Couldn't say exactly. Max takes care of the lumber." Bannon's brows came together. "You ought to know a little more about this yourself, Pete. You're the man that's building the house." "I guess I've been pushing it along as well as any one could," said Peterson, sullenly. "That's all right. I ain't hitting at you. I'm talking business, that's all. Now, if Vogel's right, this cribbing ought to have been here fourteen days ago--fourteen days to-morrow." Peterson nodded. "That's just two weeks of lost time. How've you been planning to make that up?" "Why--why--I reckon I can put things together soon's I get the cribbing."