“Do you know,” the Banker went on after a long pause, “you did a good thing for the bank by bidding up that stock and paying a big price for it? It got Cartwright and Meredith over their fright a lot better than if you’d bought it cheap. If they had got badly scared and talked around, there’s no telling where they’d have landed us. But I guess there’s no danger of that now.” “No,” said Jack. “They were as pleased as possible, when the thing was finally fixed up. They seemed to be mighty glad to be well out of it.” “I wonder--” began John. He rested his chin on his hands and stared intently at nothing for a minute, then he looked at his watch. “I’m going to see them,” he said, rising. “Now?” asked Dick. “Yes, I’m going to suggest that they turn the whole estate over to me.” Not a word was spoken in the library until they heard the door close behind John Bagsbury. “I suppose I’d better go,” said Jack, without stirring in his big chair. “Perhaps so,” said Dick; “we’ve knocked about together all day--” That brought him to his feet like a flash. “You’re right,” he said. “Good night.” He shook hands with admirable nonchalance, and marched--he could not help marching--into the hall. “Stupid!” said Dick, just after he closed the door. A little later she said “Stupid” again, but with an entirely different inflection, and with something a little like a laugh on the end of it. But by that time poor Jack was halfway down the block, walking at the rate of at least five miles an hour. CHAPTER XV THE STARTING OF AN AVALANCHE However important a campaign may be, however long it may have been in the making, the hours which prove really to be decisive are likely to be few. The dramatic situation in the lard market was the outcome of months of thorough planning, of ingenious preparation, of well-concealed manipulation; but once the actual fighting began, and the whole commercial world gathered around to see, it lasted but three days and a little way into the fourth, that is, from Monday morning to an hour before noon on Thursday. Measured by the volume of trading done, Monday was the heaviest day of the four. Sponley’s operators on the floor, Stewart and Ray, began selling when the big bell gave the signal at half-past nine, and until it rang again, at half-past one, there was no cessation. The Bear was explicit in his instructions, and acting on these, Stewart and Ray took a furious pace. They sold actual lard, wholly imaginary lard, grotesque prophecies of lard, which by no possibility could be realized; and little Mr. Keyes, of Keyes and Sievert, and tall Mr. Jones, of Ball, Snyder, and Jones, bought it all, while the Old Man, as they called Pickering, strolled about their offices with an utterly irresponsible air, and smoked Wheeling stogies.