Old Peter Laughlin, rejuvenated by Cowperwood's electric ideas,
was making money for the house. He brought many bits of interesting
gossip from the floor, and such shrewd guesses as to what certain
groups and individuals were up to, that Cowperwood was able to
make some very brilliant deductions.

"By Gosh! Frank, I think I know exactly what them fellers are
trying to do," Laughlin would frequently remark of a morning, after
he had lain in his lonely Harrison Street bed meditating the major
portion of the night. "That there Stock Yards gang" (and by gang
he meant most of the great manipulators, like Arneel, Hand, Schryhart
and others) "are after corn again. We want to git long o' that
now, or I miss my guess. What do you think, huh?"

Cowperwood, schooled by now in many Western subtleties which he
had not previously known, and daily becoming wiser, would as a
rule give an instantaneous decision.

"You're right. Risk a hundred thousand bushels. I think New York
Central is going to drop a point or two in a few days. We'd better
go short a point."

Laughlin could never figure out quite how it was that Cowperwood
always seemed to know and was ready to act quite as quickly in
local matters as he was himself. He understood his wisdom concerning
Eastern shares and things dealt in on the Eastern exchange, but
these Chicago matters?

"Whut makes you think that?" he asked Cowperwood, one day, quite