n an ear down the wind to catch the echo of this turmoil,
not an agent de change in the peristyle of the Paris Bourse, who did
not strain to note the every modulation of its mighty diapason.

"Well," said the little voice of the man-within-the-man, who in the
person of Calvin Hardy Crookes sat listening to the ticker in his
office, "well, let it roar. It sure can't hurt C. H. C."

"Can you see Mr. Cressler?" said the clerk at the door.

He came in with a hurried, unsteady step. The long, stooping figure was
unkempt; was, in a sense, unjointed, as though some support had been
withdrawn. The eyes were deep-sunk, the bones of the face were gaunt
and bare; and from moment to moment the man swallowed quickly and
moistened his lips.

Crookes nodded as his ally came up, and one finger raised, pointed to a
chair. He himself was impassive, calm. He did not move. Taciturn as
ever, he waited for the other to speak.

"I want to talk with you, Mr. Crookes," began Cressler, hurriedly.
"I--I made up my mind to it day before yesterday, but I put it off. I
had hoped that things would come our way. But I can't delay now.... Mr.
Crookes, I can't stand this any longer. I must get out of the clique. I
haven't the ready money to stand this pace."

There was a silence. Crookes neither moved nor changed expression. His
small eyes fixed upon the other, he waited for Cressler to go on.

"I might remind you," Cressler continued, "that when I joined your
party I expressly stipulated that our operations should not be
speculative."

"You knew--" began Crookes.

"Oh, I have nothing to say," Cressler interrupted. "I did know. I knew
from the first it was to be speculation. I tried to deceive myself.
I--well, this don't interest you. The point is I must get out of the
market. I don't like to go back on you others"--Cressler's fingers were
fiddling with his watch chain--"I don't like to--I mean to say you must
let me out. You must let me cover--at once. I am--very nearly bankrupt
now. Another half-cent rise, and I'm done for. It will take as it
is--my--my--all my ready money--all my savings for the last ten years
to buy in my wheat."

"Let's see. How much did I sell for you?" demanded Crookes. "Five
hundred thousand?"

"Yes, five hundred thousand at ninety-eight--and we're at a dollar nine
now. It's an eleven-cent jump. I--I can't stand another eighth. I must
cover at once."

Crookes, without answering, drew his desk telephone to him.