As the stock fell, the banks requested the brokers to margin up their loans, and the brokers, in turn, requested Percival to margin up his trades. The shares he had bought outright went to cover the shortage in those he had bought on a twenty per cent margin. Loans were called later, and marginal accounts wiped out with appalling informality. Yet when Consolidated suddenly rallied three points just at the close of the day's trading, he took much comfort in it as an omen of the morrow. That night, however, he took but little satisfaction in Uncle Peter's renewed assurances of trust in his acumen. Uncle Peter, he decided all at once, was a fatuous, doddering old man, unable to realise that the whole fortune was gravely endangered. And with the gambler's inveterate hope that luck must change he forbore to undeceive the old man. Uncle Peter went with him to the office next morning, serenely interested in the prospects. "You got your pa's way of taking hold of big propositions. That's all I need to know," he reassured the young man, cheerfully. Consolidated Copper opened that day at 78, and went by two o'clock to 51. Percival watched the decline with a conviction that he was dreaming. He laughed to think of his relief when he should awaken. The crowd surged about the ticker, and their voices came as from afar. Their acts all had the weird inconsequence of the people we see in dreams. Yet presently it had gone too far to be amusing. He must arouse himself and turn over on his side. In five minutes, according to the dream, he had lost five million dollars as nearly as he could calculate. Losing a million a minute, even in sleep, he thought, was disquieting. Then upon the tape he read another chapter of disaster. Western Trolley had gone into the hands of a receiver,--a fine, fat, promising stock ruined without a word of warning; and while he tried to master this news the horrible clicking thing declared that Union Cordage was selling down to 58,--a drop of exactly 35 points since morning. Fouts, with a slip of paper in his hand, beckoned him from the door of his private office. He went dazedly in to him,--and was awakened from the dream that he had been losing a fortune in his sleep. Coming out after a few moments, he went up to Uncle Peter, who had been sitting, watchful but unconcerned, in one of the armchairs along the wall. The old man looked up inquiringly. "Come inside, Uncle Peter!" They went into the private office of Fouts. Percival shut the door, and they were alone. "Uncle Peter, Burman's been suspended on the Board of Trade; Fouts just had this over his private wire. Corn broke to-day." "That so? Oh, well, maybe it was worth a couple of million to find out Burman plays corn like he plays poker; 'twas if you couldn't get it fur any less." "Uncle Peter, we're wiped out." "How, wiped out? What do you mean, son?"