“If you had lost any money through my fault, it would have been different. But you had your original capital unimpaired. You had nothing to lose, if you bought back the same bonds at practically the same price. Now you come and ask me to sell you the bonds at 96½ that are selling in the market for 104, as a reward, I suppose, for your refusal to take my advice.” “Mr. Colwell, you take advantage of my position to insult me. And Harry trusted you so much! But let me tell you that I am not going to let you do just as you please. No doubt you would like to have me go home and forget how you’ve acted toward me. But I am going to consult a lawyer, and see if I am to be treated this way by a _friend_ of my husband’s. You’ve made a mistake, Mr. Colwell.” “Yes, madam, I certainly have. And, in order to avoid making any more, you will oblige me greatly by never again calling at this office. By all means consult a lawyer. Good morning, madam,” said the politest man in Wall Street. “We’ll see,” was all she said; and she left the room. Colwell paced up and down his office nervously. It was seldom that he allowed himself to lose his temper, and he did not like it. The ticker whirred away excitedly, and in an absent-minded, half-disgusted way he glanced sideways at it. “_Man. Elec. 5s, 106⅛_,” he read on the tape. THE BREAK IN TURPENTINE In the beginning of the beginning the distillers of turpentine carried competition to the quarrelling point. Then they carried the quarrel to the point of silence, which was most to be feared, for it meant that no time was to be wasted in words. All were losing money; but each hoped that the others were losing more, proportionately, and therefore would go under all the sooner. The survivors thought they could manage to keep on surviving, for on what twelve would starve four could feast. It is seen periodically in the United States: an industry apparently suffering from suicidal mania. It is incomprehensible, inexplicable, though mediocrities mutter: “Over-production!” and shake their heads complacently, proud of having diagnosed the trouble. Here was the turpentine business, once great and lucrative, now ruin-producing; formerly affording a comfortable livelihood to many thousands and now giving ever-diminishing wages to ever-diminishing numbers. It was Mr. Alfred Neustadt, a banker in a famous turpentine district, who first called his brother-in-law’s attention to the pitiable sight. Mr. Jacob Greenbaum’s soul thrilled during Neustadt’s recital. He perceived golden possibilities that dazzled him: He decided to form a Turpentine Trust.