“How should I know, Phineas?” he inquired, scowling in troubled thought. “I don’t think so. I didn’t notice any signs that they were interested in stock-gambling. Anyhow, we had to have the money in some form. Any one of the whole crowd is apt to get frightened now at any moment and throw the whole thing over. We’re in a tight place, that’s plain.” For the fortieth time he plucked at a too-tight collar and pulled up his shirt-sleeves, for it was stifling, and he was coatless and waistcoatless. Just then Mr. Hull’s telephone bell rang—the one connecting with the firm’s private office on ’change, and the latter jumped to seize the receiver. “Yes?” he inquired, irritably. “Two thousand shares of American offered at two-twenty! Shall I take them?” The man who was ’phoning was in sight of another man who stood at the railing of the brokers’ gallery overlooking “the pit,” or central room of the stock-exchange, and who instantly transferred any sign he might receive to the man on the floor. So Mr. Hull’s “yea” or “nay” would be almost instantly transmuted into a cash transaction on ’change. “What do you think of that?” asked Hull of Stackpole, putting his hand over the receiver’s mouth, his right eyelid drooping heavier than ever. “Two thousand more to take up! Where d’you suppose they are coming from? Tch!” “Well, the bottom’s out, that’s all,” replied Stackpole, heavily and gutturally. “We can’t do what we can’t do. I say this, though: support it at two-twenty until three o’clock. Then we’ll figure up where we stand and what we owe. And meanwhile I’ll see what I can do. If the banks won’t help us and Arneel and that crowd want to get from under, we’ll fail, that’s all; but not before I’ve had one more try, by Jericho! They may not help us, but—” Actually Mr. Stackpole did not see what was to be done unless Messrs. Hand, Schryhart, Merrill, and Arneel were willing to risk much more money, but it grieved and angered him to think he and Hull should be thus left to sink without a sigh. He had tried Kaffrath, Videra, and Bailey, but they were adamant. Thus cogitating, Stackpole put on his wide-brimmed straw hat and went out. It was nearly ninety-six in the shade. The granite and asphalt pavements of the down-town district reflected a dry, Turkish-bath-room heat. There was no air to speak of. The sky was a burning, milky blue, with the sun gleaming feverishly upon the upper walls of the tall buildings.