“I shall both buy and sell Con. Steel--or possibly sell first and buy later. The order clerk knows about my printed slips. The orders will go to you first. If at any time you are worried about margin, remember to tell me at once, because, as you know, I have not yet used half of my letter of credit; and, besides, the cables are working. I'd like to see Amos Kidder.” “He's in his office.” “Would you mind having some one telephone to him? Thank you.” Mr. Robison promptly left the office, followed by his faithful attendant Sweeney, the office-boy. They took their stand just north of the Broad Street entrance of the Stock Exchange. It was not long before Amos Kidder, of the _Evening Planet_, who had received the message, found Mr. Robison in the act of gazing unblinkingly toward the Subtreasury. “Good morning, Mr. Robison.” Mr. Robison started as if he had been rudely awakened out of a profound reverie. “Oh! Kidder! How d'ye do? Ah, yes! Ah--I'd like you to dine with me and a few friends--interesting people. You will--don't be offended!--you will learn why all newspaper articles on the stock-market arouse mirth among the people who pull the wires. What do you say?” “I say,” replied Kidder, with a good-natured smile, “just this: When and where?” His smile ceased. Mr. Robison had turned his back on his friend. Kidder heard a nasal mumble and made out: “Here in eight minutes.” “What do you mean?” “I shall learn if the Lion ate the man or if it's a case of another day.” “Mr. Robison, I don't understand--” “I beg your pardon. I was thinking of the old man who was seen in a front seat at the circus every day. They asked him what he found so interesting, and he said that some day the lion would eat the man and he wanted to be a spectator. Well, one day he was sick. That day the lion ate the lion-tamer. Well, I am here waiting to see Garrettson come out of the cage.” “Garrettson?” “The great W. H. Garrettson! I am planning a campaign in Con. Steel. Garrettson's health is important. I must consider the state of his liver as carefully as the condition of the iron trade, because it is not only a question of the dividend rate, but of the price per share--not alone an investment, but a speculation. You can't lose all your mills and furnaces in one minute and you can't destroy all your customers overnight; but Garrettson can die in a second!” “Of course that contingency has been provided for. His firm would undoubtedly be on the job.” “So would the undertaker. As a matter of fact everything to-day depends upon the character of Garrettson's life. Have you ever stopped to think of how much depends upon the character of his death?” “All deaths are alike. You talk like a novelist unaware of the resources of a firm like Garrettson's.”