He began to bid for stock. One thousand shares at 116; he got it. Another thousand; it was forthcoming at 116⅛. A third thousand; somebody was glad to sell it at 116½. So far, so bad. Then he bid 117 for 2,500 shares, and it was promptly sold. But when he bid “117 for any part of 5,000!” the crowd hesitated; the brokers were not altogether sure Hayward was “good for it”; his ability to pay for the stock was not undoubted. So Sally, taking advantage of the hesitation, bid 117¼ and 117½ for 5,000 Sugar, at which price “Billy” Thatcher, a two-dollar broker, sold it to him. It made 10,500 shares Hayward had bought, and the stock had risen only 1½ points. The shorts were not frightened a wee bit. But Sally was. He rushed out of the crowd to his telephone and made a pretence of “reporting” the transactions to his office, as he would have done had they been _bona fide_ purchases. He was followed by a hundred sharply curious—and curiously sharp—eyes. They saw him hold the telephone receiver to his ear with an expression of great interest, as if he were listening to an important message. But the only message he heard was that of his heart-beats, that seemed to say, almost articulately: “You have played and you have lost; you have played and you have lost. Therefore, you are that much worse off than before. You must play again—_and not lose_!” He left his telephone and rushed back to the Sugar crowd. He was less excited, less like a drunken man; his face was no longer flushed, but pale. And anon there flashed upon him, as if in candent letters, the words _Pike’s Peak or bust_! But _Pike’s Peak_ glowed dully, feebly, while the alternative was of a lurid splendor. And he blinked his eyes and made a curious impatient motion with his hand, as one waves away an annoying insect. He gave an order for 5,000 Sugar to his friend, Newton Hartley. “Is this for yourself, Sally?” asked Hartley. “No. It’s for one of the biggest men in the Street, Newt. It’s all right. Absolutely O. K.” And thus reassured, Hartley bought the stock. The price was 118. The seller would hold Hartley responsible for the purchase money if Hayward “laid down”—refused to pay. Sally wiped his forehead twice, quite unnecessarily. The shorts were not stampeding. Any attempt to sell out the 15,000 shares he had bought would result only in depressing the price, five points at least. It was worse than bad, the outlook for him. He gave another order to buy 5,000 shares to “Billy” Lansing, an old and reliable two-dollar broker, but Lansing declined it. He tried another, but the order was not accepted. They mistrusted him; but he could not even bluster, for they excused themselves on the ground of having important orders elsewhere. So he had recourse to another personal friend—J. G. Thompson. “Joe, buy 5,000 Sugar.” “Are you sober?” said Thompson, seriously.