At seven o'clock, when Bojo was struggling up from a sleepless night, Granning came into his room, awkwardly sympathetic. "Look here, Bojo, is it as bad as the fellows feared?" "Can't tell, Granny. Looks nasty." "You in trouble too?" Bojo nodded. "I say, I've got that bond for a thousand tucked away," said Granning slowly. "Use it if it'll help any." "Bless your heart," said Bojo, really touched. "It's not a thousand, Granny, that'll help now. You were right--gambler's luck!" "Cut that out," said Granning, shifting from foot to foot. "I'm damned sorry--tough luck, damned tough luck. I wish I could help!" "You can't--no use of throwing good money after bad. Mighty white of you all the same!" * * * * * When he reached the offices, he learned for the first time how deeply the firm had speculated on the information of Drake's intentions. Forshay was cool, with the calm of the sportsman game in the face of ruin, but Flaspoller and Hauk were frantic in their denunciations. It was a trick, a stock-jobbing device of an inner circle. Nothing could justify an additional dividend. The common stock had not been on a two per cent. basis more than three years. Nothing justified it. Some one would go behind the bars for it! Forshay smoked on, shrugging his shoulders, rather contemptuous. "Hit you hard?" he said to Bojo. "Looks so. And you?" "Rather." "You call up Drake. Maybe he come back," said Flaspoller, ungrammatical in his wrath. "He won't be in," said Bojo, and for the twentieth time he received the invariable answer. [Illustration: "The message was the end of hope"] At nine o'clock Skelly's office called up. A clerk gave the message, Mr. Skelly being too occupied. Bojo listened, hoping desperately against hope, believing in the possibility of salvation in an enormous block to be thrown on the market. The message was the end of hope! "Cancel selling orders. Buy Pittsburgh & New Orleans at the market up to 20,000 shares." He tried ineffectively to reach Skelly personally and then communicated the order to the others, who were waiting in silence. "If Drake's out, good-by," said Forshay, who went to the window, whistling. "Well, let's save what we can!" The realization of the situation brought a sudden calm. Hauk departed for the floor of the Stock Exchange. The others prepared to wait. "Match you quarters," said Forshay with a laugh. He came back, glancing over Bojo's shoulder at a few figures jotted down on a pad, reading off the total: "12,350 shares. I thought you were in only ten thousand." "Twenty-three fifty Saturday," said Bojo, staring at the pad. "At 5 per cent. margin too." "Lovely. What cleans you out?" Bojo figured a moment, frowned, consulted his list, and finally announced: "Thirty-seven and one-half wipes me out nice and clean."