"Not so bad, eh Smith!" he said, shaking hands. The fierce light of battle was in his eyes. "They're headed for the tall timber, but we still have their range! Did you hear the last quotation?" "The last figure I saw was seventy-three," I said. "Seventy-three?" he laughed. "I just bought a thousand shares for ninety-one. Take the folks over to the visitor's gallery and let them watch the animals. I'm going to begin to feed them raw meat in about half an hour." As we walked toward the Exchange, Mrs. Harding said to me: "I think it's perfectly wicked the way you men gamble!" Bless her dear heart, so do I, but what could I say except to utter some commonplace? The huge box of marble and gold where this gambling is done already was seething with maniacs who had reached a stage of delirium pitiful to those who witness such scenes for the first time. It was as if a thousand human rats had been hurled into a pit, with heaven and earth offered as prizes to those who survived. The swaying forms, the tossing arms, the frantic uplifted faces of aged men, the football rush of impetuous youths, the shrieks, howlings and bellowings of the combatants, the tramp of feet on the paper-strewn floor, the clatter of innumerable instruments, the tinkle of myriads of bells; and through the opened windows God's pure sunlight illumining this hell on earth--such was the scene they looked down upon. I knew the signs which told when Harding threw the first bits of "raw meat" into this gilded corral. I knew that he long since had cornered N.O. & G., and that he would whet the appetites of his victims as only he knew how, but I did not know that it was his day of reckoning for other "conspirators" equally as grasping as those with whom I had measured my puny sword. As the hands of the clock slowly crawled to the hour of three the frenzy of the mob in the centre of the pit became maddening. I had no way of knowing from where we stood whether prices were moving up or down, but it was evident that Harding was "feeding the animals." Then the gong boomed the signal that the session was ended. The tumult rose to one resounding crash, hesitated, subsided and died away. The struggling groups dissolved and partial sanity resumed its sway. I was ushered into Mr. Harding's private office immediately on our return. The magnate was in his shirt sleeves. His mouth was set in stern lines and his dark hair tousled as if he had just emerged from deadly physical combat. As I entered the room his features relaxed and then he laughed. It was the roar of the lion who raises his head for a moment from his stricken quarry.