“Come out of the floor,” said Townley to Arthur; “come up-stairs; there’s going to be some fun.” At first, no one paid any attention to the new-comer; and when our friends got to the gallery, the fat broker was still offering his stock at ninety-one to an unheeding world, and the state of affairs was much the same as before. Only, that at this distance the noise had something in it less human; it was inarticulate, monstrous, and the sight of half a thousand men, struggling, every eye fixed on his neighbor’s, made a something awful in the experience, as if they two on-lookers were unseen Valkyrs, looking down upon some battle of the Huns. “Ninety-one,” they heard the new-comer say again; and this time he was answered; for there was a howl of derision, and then a sudden sway in the crowd, and a rush to where he stood. “Ninety and three quarters,” said he; “a half,” and there was another howl; but by this time the leaders of the inner defence had heard of this flank movement, and their tactics changed. “Ninety!” “Nine and a half!” “Eighty-nine!” “Eight and three quarters!” “A half!” “Seven, for ten thousand,” said the solitary broker, coolly; and the roar doubled in volume, if such a thing were possible; and the rush to sell began, at rapidly dropping figures. The fat, good-natured broker turned away, and started to go, having sold the stock down five points in hardly fifty seconds; when crash! a small soft orange went through the centre of the impudent white hat. With a yell of derision, the crowd turned their fury upon this; whack! crack! flew the unlucky hat, from one fist to another, amid the cheers of the multitude, until a well-directed kick landed it beside Arthur in the gallery. This gave a new object to their humor; and with one accord the assemblage began singing in regular well-tempered cadence, evidently referring to Arthur: “Lambs! Lambs! One shorn lamb!” Arthur, blushing, hurried from the gallery; and Charlie Townley followed him, laughing inordinately. “They’ll get used to you in a day or two, my dear fellow,” said he. “They wouldn’t have done it if they hadn’t seen you with me.” When they got into the corridor below, they met the broker of the ravaged hat. He had got another by this time, and winked, this time with a broad smile, at Townley as they came out. “I did that pretty well, I think?” said he. “First-rate,” said Townley. “How much did it cost?” “Not over twenty thousand shares, I guess, and twelve at least went to your friends. The boys didn’t like it, though, did they?” And the man’s mouth grinned wider, as he thought of the scene we have described. “Charge the hat to the pool,” laughed Townley. “Who’s selling,--not the Old Man?” “Tammy, I guess,” said the other. “Doubt if the Old Man even knows it.”