But the attention of these two was absorbed by the distant clamor of the battle which attacked their ears the moment they entered the building. It was an angry roar, inarticulate, meaningless, but with its savage crescendo and its fitful diminuendo it was vaguely exciting. They hurried up the stairs into the visitors’ gallery and wormed their way through the crowd to a position from which they could see the floor. Their first glance was disappointing. It added nothing to the sensation they had felt at the first sound of the shouting. The only impression they could get was of a vast clamoring confusion. “Are they really doing anything but yell?” asked Dick. All through her life she had believed that real power exerted itself quietly; that noise was the manifestation of impotence, and it was hard for her to take this mob seriously. Before Jack could speak the man who stood at her other hand had answered her. He was a well-dressed young fellow, who seemed vastly excited over the battle. “Anything but yell!” he quoted. “They’re making a price that will rule in all the markets in the world.” With a pressure of her hand she signalled Jack not to interfere, and then asked the stranger,-- “Will you please tell me what is happening down there?” The explanation came, swift and hot, but to Dick’s chagrin it was in a foreign language. She caught a familiar word now and then, but the rest was as meaningless as the tumult on the floor. “I see,” she said at last. Then to forestall any further explanation she asked, “Can you tell me who that little man is in the white flannel coat?” “Keyes,” he spoke without looking, “of Keyes and Sievert. They’re buying for Pickering. Keyes is--Ah! there it goes up again!” He glanced at his watch. “They’ve got twenty minutes yet before closing time. They’ll get it to ten cents. See! there again!” “How can you tell that it’s gone up?” she asked. “See those fellows on the edge there, facing this way. They signal the changes of price with their hands to people who stay near the telephones. There! see that!” Dick’s eyes had wandered back to Keyes. He was standing there composedly, his memorandum card in his hand, jotting down his purchases. He seemed quite unmoved by the excitement around him. A clerk who had come running the length of the room, dodging like a football player, dashed up to this quiet little man in the white flannel coat and handed him a slip of paper. Keyes read it at a glance, tucked it in his pocket, and turned back to look at the crowd. Dick fancied she saw him smiling. Her eyes left him to fall on a very tall man who was forcing his way with much haste and little ceremony toward the centre of the pit. “That’s Jones,” said the young fellow beside her, “of Ball, Snyder, and Jones. Wonder what’s coming now?”