Then along came a war-cloud in Europe; stocks began to drop and provisions to advance. September wheat was then selling in Chicago at ninety cents. Frye bought fifty thousand bushels on a margin. France and Germany growled, and wheat rose to ninety-four. Frye sold, clearing two thousand dollars. Then it dropped a cent, and Frye bought a hundred thousand bushels more. Once again the war-cloud grew black, and wheat rose to ninety-eight. The papers were full of wild rumors, and "The Wall Street Bugle" said wheat would look cheap at a dollar and a half inside of a month. Then it advanced to one dollar, and Frye lost his head. His holdings showed a profit of seven thousand dollars, and sudden riches stared him in the face. Once more the two bellicose foreign powers growled and showed their teeth. Wheat rose another cent, and Frye doubled his holdings. Then the powers that had growled smiled faintly, and in one day wheat fell to ninety-three and remained there. Frye's holdings now showed a net loss of eight thousand dollars, and he kicked the office boy out, locked the door in Pemberton Square, and from ten till three watched the quotations in State Street until wheat fell to ninety, and then he began to look around to raise more money. He had now put up over sixteen thousand dollars, and wheat was still falling. At every drop of a cent he was called upon for two thousand dollars. Day by day it vibrated, now going up a cent, and then dropping two, and when Uncle Terry and Albert were discussing how to checkmate his further robbing of the lighthouse keeper, he was, with muttered curses, watching his ill-gotten gains vanish to the tune of many thousand dollars per diem. He neglected his business, went without his meals, and forgot to shave. He had mortgaged his real estate for twenty thousand, and that was nearly gone. Wheat was now down to eighty, and France and Germany were shaking hands. Frye was caught in a trap of his own setting and could not sleep nights. His margins were almost exhausted, and his resources as well. He had put up forty thousand dollars, and if wheat fell three cents more, it would be all swept away. Then he executed a second mortgage at high interest and waited. It was the last shot in his locker, and all that stood between him and ruin; but wheat advanced two cents and he began to hope. He had absolutely ignored business for two weeks that had been one long stretch of misery, and now he went to work again. To collect the little due him and raise all the money he could was his sole thought. He wrote to Thygeson & Company that he had at last found the heir they were in search of, and described what proofs he held, at the same time stating that on receipt of his fee of a thousand dollars all and sufficient proofs of identity of the claimant would be forwarded. Then he wrote to Uncle Terry and demanded three hundred more. September wheat had now fallen to seventy-eight. CHAPTER XXVII IN SHADY WOODS