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Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips), 1866-1946

"The Profiteers"

They
promised to advise us of all proposed wheat cargoes, and they haven't
kept their word. If my information is correct, and I expect confirmation
of it at any moment in the cable I arranged to have sent to you, they
have eleven steamers being loaded this very week. It's a last effort on
the part of the Liverpool ring to break us."
"What'll happen if Wingate won't sell?" Dredlinton enquired.
"I never face disagreeable possibilities before the necessity arrives,"
was the calm reply. "Wingate is certain to sell. He won't have an idea
why we want to buy, and I shall give him twenty thousand pounds profit."
"You'll find him a difficult customer," Dredlinton declared. "As you
know, he hates us like poison."
"He may do that," Phipps acknowledged. "I've given him cause to in my
life, and hope to again. But after all, he's a shrewd fellow. He's made
money on the Stock Exchange this last week, and he's had the sense not to
run up against us. He's not likely to refuse a clear twenty thousand
pounds' profit on some shares he's not particularly interested in."
Dredlinton knocked the ash from his cigar. He leaned over towards his
companion.
"Look here, Phipps," he said, "you can never reckon exactly on what a
fellow like Wingate will do or what he won't do. It is just possible I
may be able to help in this matter.


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