I'm organizing the grain industry of this country as it is organized in no other country on this planet." Barclay rose as he spoke and began limping the length of the room.

It was his habit to walk when he talked, and he knew the general had come to catechize him.
"Yes, but then, John--what then ?" "What then ?" repeated Barclay, with his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the floor.

"Coffee, maybe--perhaps sugar, or tobacco.

Or why not the whole food supply of the people--let me have meat and sugar where I will have flour and grain, and in ten years no man in America can open his grocery store in the morning until he has asked John Barclay for the key." He snapped his eyes good-naturedly at the general, challenging the man's approval.
The general smiled and replied: "No, John, you'll get the social bug and go around in knee-breeches, riding a horse after a scared fox, or keeping a lot of hussies on a yacht.

They all get that way sooner or later." Barclay leaned over Ward, stuck out his hard jaw and growled: "Well, I won't.