“Greenbaum,” said Mr. Sharpe, in a listless voice, “don’t get excited. Good-by, Greenbaum. Be virtuous and you will be happy.” And he resumed his caged-tiger pacing up and down his office. As by magic, Mr. Sharpe’s burly private secretary appeared, and said: “This way, Mr. Greenbaum,” and led the dazed Trust-maker from the office. On his return Sharpe told him: “There is no need to accuse those fellows of breach of faith. They’d deny it.” The next day Mr. Sharpe simply poured the remaining 25,000 shares of the pool’s stock on the market as one pours water from a pitcher into a cup. The bears had it all their own way. The loquacious tape said, ever so plainly: “This is nothing but inside liquidation, all the more dangerous and ominous since it is at such low figures and is so urgent in its character. Heaven alone can tell where it will end; and there is no telephone communication thither.” Everybody was selling because somebody had started a rumor that the courts had dissolved the company for gross violation of the Anti-Trust law, and that a receiver had been appointed. Having sold out the last of the pool’s stock, Mr. Sharpe “took in” at $22 a share the 2,800 shares which he had put out at $72, a total profit on his small “line” of $140,000. Turpentine stock had declined fifty points in fifteen business hours. It meant a shrinkage in the market value of the company’s capital stock of $15,000,000. The shrinkage in the self-esteem of some of the pool was measurable only in billions. Sharpe notified his associates that the pool had completely realized—_i.e._, had sold out—and that he would be pleased to meet them at his office on Monday—this was Thursday—at eleven A.M., when he would have checks and an accounting ready for them. He refused himself to Greenbaum, Wechsler, Zeman, Shaffran, and others who called to see what could be done to save their reputations from the wreck of Turpentine. The stalwart private secretary told them that Mr. Sharpe was out of town. He was a very polite man, was the secretary; and an amateur boxer of great proficiency. Failing to find Sharpe, they hastily organized a new pool, of a self-protective character, and sent in “supporting” orders. They were obliged to take large quantities of stock that day and the next in order to prevent a worse smash, which would hurt them in other directions. They found themselves with more than 50,000 shares on their hands, and the price was only 26 @ 28. And merely to try to sell the stock at that time threatened to start a fresh Turpentine panic. They met Sharpe on Monday. His speech was not so short as usual. He had previously sent to each man an envelope containing a check and a statement, and now he said, in a matter-of-fact tone: