Part 23 (1/2)
”Whereas,” Mr. Streeter continued, persuasively, ”if you put up ten per cent., you will have six points.”
”Very well,” said the other promptly. ”Then please buy me six thousand shares.”
So they closed the deal, and the papers were signed, and Mr. Streeter took the six new, crisp ten-thousand-dollar bills.
Then he escorted him to the outer office, remarking pleasantly on the way, ”I hope you're well advised. We're inclined to be bearish upon Transcontinental ourselves--the situation looks rather squally.”
These words were not worth the breath it took to say them; but Montague was not aware of this, and felt a painful start within. But he answered, carelessly, that one must take his chance, and sat down in one of the customer's chairs. Hammond and Streeter's was like a little lecture-hall, with rows of seats and a big blackboard in front, with the initials of the most important stocks in columns, and yesterday's closing prices above, on little green cards. At one side was a ticker, with two attendants awaiting the opening click.
In the seats were twenty or thirty men, old and young; most of them regular habitues, victims of the fever of the Street. Montague watched them, catching s.n.a.t.c.hes of their whispered conversation, with its intricate and disagreeable slang. He felt intensely humiliated and uncomfortable--for he had got the fever of the Street into his own veins, and he could not conquer it. There were nasty s.h.i.+vers running up and down his spine, and his hands were cold.
He stared at the little figures, fascinated; they stood for some vast and tremendous force outside, which could not be controlled or even comprehended,--some merciless, annihilating force, like the lightning or the tornado. And he had put himself at the mercy of it; it might do its will with him! ”Tr. C. 59 5/8” read the little pasteboard; and he had only six points of safety. If at any time in the day that figure should be changed to read ”53 5/8”--then every dollar of Montague's sixty thousand would be gone for ever! The great fee that he had worked so hard for and rejoiced so greatly over--that would be all gone, and a slice out of his inheritance besides!
A boy put into his hand a little four-page paper--one of the countless news-sheets which different houses and interests distributed free for advertising or other purposes; and a heading ”Transcontinental” caught his eye, among the paragraphs in the Day's Events. He read: ”The directors' meeting of the Transcontinental R.R. will be held at noon.
It is confidently predicted that the quarterly dividend will be pa.s.sed, as it has been for the last three quarters. There is great dissatisfaction among the stock-holders. The stock has been decidedly weak, with no apparent inside support; it fell off three points just before closing yesterday, upon the news of further proceedings by Western state officials, and widely credited rumours of dissensions among the directors, with renewed opposition to the control of the Hopkins interests.”
Ten o'clock came and went, and the ticker began its long journey. There was intense activity in Transcontinental, many thousands of shares changing hands, and the price swaying back and forth. When Oliver came in, in half an hour, it stood at 59 3/8.
”That's all right,” said he. ”Our time will not come till afternoon.”
”But suppose we are wiped out before afternoon?” said the other.
”That is impossible,” answered Oliver. ”There will be big buying all the morning.”
They sat for a while, nervous and restless. Then, by way of breaking the monotony, Oliver suggested that his brother might like to see the ”Street.” They went around the corner to Broad Street. Here at the head stood the Sub-treasury building, with all the gold of the government inside, and a Gatling gun in the tower. The public did not know it was there, but the financial men knew it, and it seemed as if they had huddled all their offices and banks and safe-deposit vaults under its shelter. Here, far underground, were hidden the two hundred millions of securities of the Oil Trust--in a huge six-hundred-ton steel vault, with a door so delicately poised that a finger could swing it on its hinges. And opposite to this was the white Grecian building of the Stock Exchange. Down the street were throngs of men within a roped arena, pus.h.i.+ng, shouting, jostling; this was ”the curb,” where one could buy or sell small blocks of stock, and all the wild-cat mining and oil stocks which were not listed by the Exchange. Rain or s.h.i.+ne, these men were always here; and in the windows of the neighbouring buildings stood others shouting quotations to them through megaphones, or signalling in deaf and dumb language. Some of these brokers wore coloured hats, so that they could be distinguished; some had offices far off, where men sat all day with strong gla.s.ses trained upon them.
Everywhere was the atmosphere of speculation--the restless, feverish eyes; the quick, nervous gestures; the haggard, care-worn faces. For in this game every man was pitted against every other man; and the dice were loaded so that nine out of every ten were doomed in advance to ruin and defeat. They procured pa.s.ses to the visitors' gallery of the Exchange. From here one looked down into a room one or two hundred feet square, its floor covered with a snowstorm of torn pieces of paper, and its air a babel of shouts and cries. Here were gathered perhaps two thousand men and boys; some were lounging and talking, but most were crowded about the various trading-posts, pus.h.i.+ng, climbing over each other, leaping up, waving their hands and calling aloud. A ”seat” in this exchange was worth about ninety-five thousand dollars, and so no one of these men was poor; but yet they came, day after day, to play their parts in this sordid arena, ”seeking in sorrow for each other's joy”: inventing a thousand petty tricks to outwit and deceive each other; rejoicing in a thousand petty triumphs; and spending their lives, like the waves upon the sh.o.r.e, a very symbol of human futility.
Now and then a sudden impulse would seize them, and they would become like howling demons, surging about one spot, shrieking, gasping, clawing each other's clothing to pieces; and the spectator shuddered, seeing them as the victims of some strange and dreadful enchantment, which bound them to struggle and torment each other until they were worn out and grey.
But one felt these things only dimly, when he had put all his fortune into Transcontinental Common. For then he had sold his own soul to the enchanter, and the spell was upon him, and he hoped and feared and agonized with the struggling throng. Montague had no need to ask which was his ”post”; for a mob of a hundred men were packed about it, with little whirls and eddies here and there on the outside. ”Something doing to-day all right,” said a man in his ear.
It was interesting to watch; but there was one difficulty--there were no quotations provided for the spectators. So the sight of this activity merely set them on edge with anxiety--something must be happening to their stock! Even Oliver was visibly nervous--after all, in the surest cases, the game was a dangerous one; there might be a big failure, or an a.s.sa.s.sination, or an earthquake! They rushed out and made for the nearest broker's office, where a glance at the board showed them Transcontinental at 60. They drew a long breath, and sat down again to wait.
That was about half-past eleven. At a quarter to twelve the stock went up an eighth, and then a quarter, and then another eighth. The two gripped their hands in excitement. Had the time come?
Apparently it had. A minute later the stock leaped to 61, on large buying. Then it went three-eighths more. A buzz of excitement ran through the office, and the old-timers sat up in their seats. The stock went another quarter.
Montague heard a man behind him say to his neighbour, ”What does it mean?”
”G.o.d knows,” was the answer; but Oliver whispered in his brother's ear, ”I know what it means. The insiders are buying.”
Somebody was buying, and buying furiously. The ticker seemed to set all other business aside and give its attention to the trading in Transcontinental. It was like a base-ball game, when one side begins to pile up runs, and the man in the coacher's box chants exultantly, and the dullest spectator is stirred--since no man can be indifferent to success. And as the stock went higher and higher, a little wave of excitement mounted with it, a murmur running through the room, and a thrill pa.s.sing from person to person. Some watched, wondering if it would last, and if they had not better take on a little; then another point would be scored, and they would wish they had done it, and hesitate whether to do it now. But to others, like the Montagues, who ”had some,” it was victory, glorious and thrilling; their pulses leaped faster with every new change of the figures; and between times they reckoned up their gains, and hung between hope and dread for the new gains which were on the way, but not yet in sight.
There was little lull, and the boys who tended the board had a chance to rest. The stock was above 66; at which price, owing to the device of ”pyramiding.” Montague was on ”velvet,” to use the picturesque phrase of the Street. His earnings amounted to sixty thousand dollars, and even if the stock were to fall and he were to be sold out, he would lose nothing.
He wished to sell and realize his profits; but his brother gripped him fast by the arm. ”No! no!” he said. ”It hasn't really come yet!”
Some went out to lunch--to a restaurant where they could have a telephone on their table, so as to keep in touch with events. But the Montagues had no care about eating; they sat picturing the directors in session, and speculating upon a score of various eventualities. Things might yet go wrong, and all their profits would vanish like early snow-flakes--and all their capital with them. Oliver shook like a leaf, but he would not stir. ”Stay game!” he whispered.
He took out his watch, and glanced at it. It was after two o'clock. ”It may go over till to-morrow!” he muttered.--But then suddenly came the storm.