Brent was in Wharton’s office when the news came. A private wire from Chicago brought fragmentary reports of the frenzied panic. For a few minutes the confusion of quotations was impossible to understand. Then it appeared that wheat had fallen more than fifty cents a bushel in less than a quarter of an hour. “Can’t we stop it, Jack?” exclaimed Brent, when the operator handed Wharton a slip of paper making this point clear. “This is unnecessary ruin, and there’s no knowing where the thing will end.” “I’ll try,” replied Wharton, scribbling rapidly on a pad and handing it to the operator. “I’m instructing Barton to buy five million bushels if necessary, to steady the market.” The message was gone in a trice, but it was a matter of seconds rather than minutes in dealing with such an emergency, and nothing for the moment could check the frantic scramble to escape from the ruins of the flimsy fabric of speculation. In ten minutes more, wheat was a dollar a bushel cheaper than the day before, and the transactions mounted high in the millions. News of failures began to come, and the scene in the wheat pit was reported to be like that of a madhouse in revolt. “I’m afraid we’ve overdone it,” said Wharton anxiously. “I had no idea the bubble would collapse so easily. We must be ready for trouble here, too. The stock market will take alarm, and there may be devils let loose here, too.” In confirmation of his fears, the telephone connecting with the Stock Exchange on Wharton’s desk rang at that moment, and Strong & Co.’s representative there notified him that the market was becoming active and feverish over the news from Chicago. Wharton telephoned brief instructions to head off any decline by supporting strongly two or three prominent stocks, and he quickly turned again to some more slips from the Chicago wire which Brent handed him. “Worse than ever, Jack,” said the latter. “How much cash have we in Chicago?” “About twelve millions available within instant reach.” “Hadn’t we better throw it all into wheat, and force a reaction?” “Perhaps even that wouldn’t stem the tide, if this fury doesn’t soon exhaust itself. Whew! Some of the biggest houses in the West are in this list of suspensions. These last figures are a little better, though. Barton must be at work.” “Mr. Barton’s reply, sir,” called out the telegraph operator, and a moment later handed over this message: “Order filled. Market still unsettled. Await instructions.” “I think you are right, Robert. I shall tell him to bid up wheat smartly. Five million bushels more, if necessary.” And the order was in Chicago sixty seconds later. The effect was soon felt. The recovery began, and within an hour the advance had become steady. Wharton checked it as soon as about one fourth of the day’s decline had been regained.