“Umph!” said he; “what does that mean? ‘El’ must be ‘twelve,’--hundred and twelve. Still rising, you see; though why it should have gone so high and so suddenly I don’t exactly see. Hello,” he resumed, as he turned again to the mouth-piece; “will you give me those figures again, and not quite so loud? I can’t make them out.” Again the message came, but it did not seem any more satisfactory, for the president looked astonished, and then frowned; then he shouted back,-- “There’s some mistake; you didn’t get the right letters: I said E. & W.,--Eastern and Western. One moment. Mr. Marge, won’t you kindly take my place? My hearing isn’t very keen.” Marge placed the receiver to his ear, and shouted, “All right; go ahead.” In two or three seconds he dropped the receiver, turned pale, and looked as if about to fall. “What is it?” asked several voices in chorus. “He said, ‘E. & W. is dead as a smelt; knocked to pieces two days ago.’” “What is it quoted at now?” asked one, quickly. True enough: who could want to know more than Marge? It was in a feeble voice, though, and after two or three attempts to clear his throat, that he asked,-- “How did it close to-day?” Again, as the answer came back, Marge dropped the receiver and acted as if about to fall. “What is it? Speak, can’t you?” “Thirty-seven!” whispered Marge. There was an outburst of angry exclamations, not unmixed with profanity. Then nearly all present looked at the president inquiringly, but without receiving any attempt at an explanation, for the president was far the heaviest owner of E. & W. stock, and he looked as stony of face as if he had suddenly died but neglected to close his eyes. Marge hastily sought the outer air; it seemed to him he would lose his reason if he did not get away from that awful telephone. Thirty-seven! he knew what that meant; his margin might have saved his own stock had the drop been to a little below par, but it had tumbled more than half a hundred points, so of course his brokers had closed the account when the margin was exhausted, and Marge, who a fortnight before had counted himself worth nearly a million dollars (Wall Street millions), was now simply without a penny to his credit in Wall Street or anywhere else; what money he chanced to have in his pocket was all he could hope to call his own until the first of the next month, when the occupants of his tenement-houses would pay their rent.