lords
in the great Chamber, who have been, as the phrase is, "cleaned out."
There is a gray-bearded veteran in seedy clothes, with sunken fiery
eyes, who was once many times a millionaire, was a power in the Board,
followed by reporters, had a palace in the Avenue, and drove to his
office with coachman and footman in livery, and his wife headed the list
of charities. Now he spends his old age watching this blackboard, and
considers it a good day that brings him five dollars and his car-fare.
At one end of the low-ceiled apartment are busy clerks behind a counter,
alert and cheerful. If one should go through a side door and down a
passage he might encounter the smell of rum. Smart young men, clad in
the choicest raiment from the misfit counters, with greed stamped
on their astute faces, bustle about, watch the blackboards, and make
investments with each other. Middle-aged men in slouch hats lounge
around with hungry eyes. The place is feverish rather than exciting. A
tall fellow, whose gait and clothes proclaim him English, with a hard
face and lack-lustre eyes, saunters about; his friends at home suppose
he is making his fortune in America. A dapper young gentleman, quite in
the mode, and with the quick air of prosperity, rapidly enters the room
and confers with a clerk at the counter. He has the run of the Chamber,
and is from the great house of Flamm and Slamm. Perhaps he is taking a
"flier" on his own account, perhaps he represents his house in a side
transaction; there are so many ways open to enterprising young men in the
city; at any rate, his entrance is regarded as significant: This is not
a hospital for the broken down and "cleaned out" of the Chamber, but
it is a place of business, which is created and fed by the incessant
"ticker." How men existed or did any business at all before the advent
of the "ticker" is a wonder.

But the Chamber, the creator of low-pressure and high-pressure, the
inspirer of the "ticker," is the great generator of business. Here I
found Henderson in the morning hour, and he came up to me on the call of
a messenger. He approached, nonchalant and smiling as usual. "Do you see
that man," he said, as we stood a moment looking down, "sitting there
on a side bench--big body, small head, hair grayish, long beard
parted--apparently taking no interest in anything?

"That's Flink, who made the corner in O. B.--one of the longest-headed
operators in the Chamber. He is about the only man who da