A few minutes later the Iowa Midland “post” on the floor of the Stock Exchange was surrounded by a dozen puzzled and apprehensive but gentlemanly brokers. And still a few minutes later the same spot was a seething whirlpool of maniacal humanity. It was appalling, the sight of these gesticulating, yelling, fighting, coat-tearing, fisticuffing brokers—appalling and vulgar, selfish, unpleasant, ungentlemanly but eminently typical. And all that caused the transformation was the fact that Mr. Brown had been seen whispering to Harry Wilson, and Harry Wilson had left him, gone to the Iowa Midland crowd, and sold 1,000 shares at 42⅛ and 42. Then Mr. Brown had been seen speaking with W. G. Carleton in what struck witnesses as being a more or less agitated manner, and later Carleton had sauntered carelessly over to the Iowa Midland precinct, and, after displaying very great indifference about the world in general, but most particularly about the market for Iowa Midland, had sold 1,500 shares to Bagley, the specialist, at 41¾, 41⅝, and 41½. Mr. Brown was now watched by two or three scores of sharp eyes, all having the same expression. And he was observed to look about him apprehensively and then begin to converse with Frank J. Pratt; whereupon Pratt, as fast as his fat legs would carry him, hastened to “Iowa Midland” and sold 2,000 shares at an average price of 41. The observant eyes had by this taken on a new expression—of indecision; but when they beheld Mr. Brown anxiously beckon to his “particular” friend, Dan Simpson, and saw shrill-voiced Dan rush like mad into the increasing crowd and sell 5,000 shares of Iowa Midland, apparently regardless of price, the observant eyes ceased to observe Brown. Activity was transferred to their owners’ throats as they thought to emulate Simpson and the rest of the Brown “whisperees.” Everybody scented danger, especially as the same “whisperees” had not “given up” the name of Brown & Greener as the real sellers, but had sold as though each Brown-talked man was acting for himself—which every other man in the room knew was out of the question, and which, in turn, increased the general uneasiness. It was a confident and yet a mystifying movement. It became more maddeningly perplexing when certain brokers, believed to be “close to the inside,” also began to sell the stock. Everybody started to do likewise. And everybody asked the same question—“What’s the matter?”—and received an avalanche of answers, all different but all unfavorable. One man said it was crop failures, another mentioned divers kinds of bugs, a third asserted it was extensive wash-outs and ruinous landslides, and bankrupting attacks by a socialistic legislature, and receivership probabilities.