Dan spent his days from 10 to 3 on the Stock Exchange and his nights from 10 to 3 at the roulette tables or before a faro lay-out. Restless as the quivering sea and suffering from chronic insomnia, he had perforce to satisfy his constitutional craving for powerful stimulants, but as he hated delirium tremens he gave himself ceaselessly big doses of the wine of gambling—it does as much for the nerves as the very best whiskey. He would buy or sell 50,000 shares of a stock and he would bet $50,000 on the turn of a card. On an occasion he offered to wager a fortune that he could guess which of two flies that had alit on a table would be the first to fly away. Greener found, in the Stock Exchange, the means to a desired end. Despite innumerable bits of stock jobbing, he had no exalted opinion, in his heart of hearts, of stock operations. But Dittenhoeffer thought the stock market was the court of last resort, whither financiers should go, when they were in the right, to get their deserts; and when they were in the wrong to overcome their deserts by the brute force of dollars. It was natural that in their operations in the market the two men should be as dissimilar as they were in their physical and temperamental characteristics—Machiavelli and Richard Cœur-de-Lion. Nobody knew exactly how the enmity between Greener and Dittenhoeffer began. The “Little Napoleon of Railroading” had felt toward Dutch Dan a certain passive hostility for interference with sundry stock market deals. But Dan hated Greener madly, probably for the same reason that a hawk may have for hating a snake: the instinctive antipathy of the utterly dissimilar.