floor of the exchange, his offices, and the streets were his only
resources. He cared nothing for plays, books, pictures, music--and
for women only in his one-angled, mentally impoverished way. His
limitations were so marked that to a lover of character like
Cowperwood he was fascinating--but Cowperwood only used character.
He never idled over it long artistically.

As Cowperwood suspected, what old Laughlin did not know about
Chicago financial conditions, deals, opportunities, and individuals
was scarcely worth knowing. Being only a trader by instinct,
neither an organizer nor an executive, he had never been able to
make any great constructive use of his knowledge. His gains and
his losses he took with reasonable equanimity, exclaiming over and
over, when he lost: "Shucks! I hadn't orter have done that," and
snapping his fingers. When he won heavily or was winning he munched
tobacco with a seraphic smile and occasionally in the midst of
trading would exclaim: "You fellers better come in. It's a-gonta
rain some more." He was not easy to trap in any small gambling
game, and only lost or won when there was a free, open struggle
in the market, or when be was engineering some little scheme of
his own.

The matter of this partnership was not arranged at once, although
it did not take long. Old Peter Laughlin wanted to think it over,
although he had immediately developed a personal fancy for Cowperwood.
In a way he was the latter's victim and servant from the start.
They met day after day to discuss various details and terms;
finally, true to his instincts, old Peter demanded a full half
interest.