"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.
"Paper says the crop is larger than the government estimate," said Tolliver, and added, "There'll be no painting this year." He looked toward the Smith School and thought of the five thousand dollars waiting; but he hesitated. John Taylor had carefully mentioned seven thousand dollars as a price he was willing to pay and "perhaps more." Was Cresswell back of Taylor? Tolliver was suspicious and moved to delay matters.
"It's manipulation and speculation in New York," said Colonel Cresswell, "and the Farmers' League must begin operations."
The local paper soon had an editorial on "our distinguished fellow citizen, Colonel Cresswell," and his efforts to revive the Farmers' League. It was understood that Colonel Cresswell was risking his whole private fortune to hold the price of cotton, and some effort seemed to be needed, for cotton dropped to nine cents within a week. Swift negotiations ensued, and a meeting of the executive committee of the Farmers' League was held in Montgomery. A system of warehouses and warehouse certificates was proposed.
"But that will cost money," responded each of the dozen big landlords who composed the committee; whereupon Harry Cresswell introduced John Taylor, who represented thirty millions of Southern bank stock.
"I promise you credit to any reasonable amount," said Mr. Taylor, "I believe in cotton--the present price is abnormal." And Mr. Taylor knew whereof he spoke, for when he sent a cipher despatch North, cotton dropped to eight and a half. The Farmers' League leased three warehouses at Savannah, Montgomery, and New Orleans.
Then silently the South gripped itself and prepared for battle. Men stopped spending, business grew dull, and millions of eyes were glued to the blackboards of the cotton-exchange. Tighter and tighter the reins grew on the backs of the black tenants.