"I guess we can close 'em all with a little care.

It's working all right.

He's got no chance of raising the cash," he added, as the two passed the chair where Sibley sat--with his hat over his eyes, chewing an unlighted cigar.
"I don't know what it is, but it's dirt--and muck at that," John Sibley remarked as he rose from his chair and followed the two into the street.
Bradley and his friends were trying steadily to close up the avenues of credit to the man to whom the success of his enterprise meant so much.
To crowd him out would mean an extra hundred and fifty thousand dollars for themselves..