“Two-forty on a turnpike road,” said Wallbridge. And, refreshed by a minute of rest, he gave a prolonged bellow and charged frantically for a stout man in a white waistcoat who was doing the maniac dance across the hall. A moment later the clamor grew louder and the excitement increased. I heard shouts of seventy-five, seventy-eight, eighty and eighty-five. Decker's men had entered into the bidding with energy. The sinews of war had been recruited, and it was a battle for the possession of every block of stock. Thus far I had followed closely the plan laid down for me by Doddridge Knapp, and the course of the market had agreed with the outlines of his prophecy. But now it was going up faster than he had expected. Yet I could do nothing but buy. I dared not set bounds to the bidding. I dared not stop for an instant to hear how the account of purchases stood, for it might allow Decker to get the stock that my employer would need to give him the control of the mine. I could only grip the railing and wait for the end of the call. At last it came, and “Omega, one hundred and five and three-quarters” was the closing quotation. I feverishly took the totals of my purchases from the brokers, and gave the checks to bind them. Then I hastily made my way through the excited throngs that blocked the entrance to the Exchange, brought thither by the exciting news of “a boom in Omega,” and hurried to the office. Doddridge Knapp had not yet come, and I consumed myself with impatience for ten minutes till I heard his key in the lock and he entered with a calm smile on his face. “What luck, Wilton?” was his greeting. The King of the Street, whose millions had been staked in the game, was less excited than I who risked nothing. I gave him my memoranda, and tried to read his face as he studied them. “You did a good job with Crown Diamond,” he grunted approvingly. “Thanks,” I returned. “I thought it wasn't bad for a stock that was not worth mentioning.” “Um, yes. Decker can light his cigars with it next month.” “A million dollars' worth of cigar-lighters might be called a piece of extravagance,” I murmured. “You'll think so if you ever buy 'em, Wilton,” growled the King of the Street feelingly. “And here is seven thousand six hundred shares of Omega bought and five thousand sold. That scheme worked pretty well. We made twenty-six hundred by it. Um--the price went up pretty fast.” The King of the Street looked sourly at the figures before him. “You ought to have got more stock,” he growled. This was a shock to my self-congratulation over my success, and I gave an inquiring “Yes?” “As I figure it out,” he said, “somebody else got seven thousand shares and odd. There were over fifteen thousand shares sold in your Board.” I murmured that I had done my best. “Yes, yes; I suppose so,” said my employer. “But we need more.” “How much?” I asked.