But even as she cried a flash and tremor shook the South. Far away to
the north a great spider sat weaving his web. The office looked down
from the clouds on lower Broadway, and was soft with velvet and leather.
Swift, silent messengers hurried in and out, and Mr. Easterly, deciding
the time was ripe, called his henchman to him.
"Taylor, we're ready--go South."
And John Taylor rose, shook hands silently, and went.
As he entered Cresswell's plantation store three days later, a colored
woman with a little boy turned sadly away from the counter.
"No, aunty," the clerk was telling her, "calico is too high; can't let
you have any till we see how your cotton comes out."
"I just wanted a bit; I promised the boy--"
"Go on, go on--Why, Mr. Taylor!" And the little boy burst into tears
while he was hurried out.
"Tightening up on the tenants?" asked Taylor.
"Yes; these niggers are mighty extravagant. Besides, cotton fell a
little today--eleven to ten and three-fourths; just a flurry, I reckon.
Had you heard?"
Mr. Taylor said he had heard, and he hurried on. Next morning the long
shining wires of that great Broadway web trembled and flashed again and
cotton went to ten cents.
"No house this year, I fear," quoth Mr. Maxwell, bitterly.
The next day nine and a half was the quotation, and men began to look at
each other and asked questions.
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