Grossmann still uttered his plaint from time to time, but no one so much as pretended to listen.The Porteous trio and Leaycraft kept the price steady at ninety-four and an eighth, but showed no inclination to force it higher.For a full five minutes not a trade was recorded.The Pit waited for the Report on the Visible Supply.
And it was during this lull in the morning's business that the idiocy of the English ultimatum to the Porte melted away.As inexplicably and as suddenly as the rumour had started, it now disappeared.Everyone, simultaneously, seemed to ridicule it.England declare war on Turkey! Where was the joke? Who was the damn fool to have started that old, worn-out war scare? But, for all that, there was no reaction from the advance.
It seemed to be understood that either Leaycraft or the Porteous crowd stood ready to support the market; and in place of the ultimatum story a feeling began to gain ground that the expected report would indicate a falling off in the "visible," and that it was quite on the cards that the market might even advance another point.
As the interest in the immediate situation declined, the crowd in the Pit grew less dense.Portions of it were deserted; even Grossmann, discouraged, retired to a bench under the visitors' gallery.And a spirit of horse-play, sheer foolishness, strangely inconsistent with the hot-eyed excitement of the few moments after the opening invaded the remaining groups.Leaycraft, the formidable, as well as Paterson of the Porteous gang, and even the solemn Winston, found an apparently inexhaustible diversion in folding their telegrams into pointed javelins and sending them sailing across the room, watching the course of the missiles with profound gravity.A visitor in the gallery--no doubt a Western farmer on a holiday--having put his feet upon the rail, the entire Pit began to groan "boots, boots, boots."A little later a certain broker came scurrying across the floor from the direction of the telephone room.
Panting, he flung himself up the steps of the Pit, forced his way among the traders with vigorous workings of his elbows, and shouted a bid.
"He's sick," shouted Hirsch."Look out, he's sick.
He's going to have a fit." He grabbed the broker by both arms and hustled him into the centre of the Pit.
The others caught up the cry, a score of hands pushed the newcomer from man to man.The Pit traders clutched him, pulled his necktie loose, knocked off his hat, vociferating all the while at top voice, "He's sick!
He's sick!"
Other brokers and traders came up, and Grossmann, mistaking the commotion for a flurry, ran into the Pit, his eyes wide, waving his arm and wailing:
"'Sell twenty-five May at ninety-five and a quarter."But the victim, good-natured, readjusted his battered hat, and again repeated his bid.
"Ah, go to bed," protested Hirsch.
"He's the man who struck Billy Paterson.""Say, a horse bit him.Look out for him, he's going to have a duck-fit."The incident appeared to be the inspiration for a new "josh" that had a great success, and a group of traders organized themselves into an "anti-cravat committee,"and made the rounds of the Pit, twitching the carefully tied scarfs of the unwary out of place.Grossman, indignant at "t'ose monkey-doodle pizeness," withdrew from the centre of the Pit.But while he stood in front of Leaycraft, his back turned, muttering his disgust, the latter, while carrying on a grave conversation with his neighbour, carefully stuck a file of paper javelins all around the Jew's hat band, and then--still without mirth and still continuing to talk--set them on fire.
Landry imagined by now that ninety-four and an eighth was as high a figure as he could reasonably expect that morning, and so began to "work off" his selling orders.
Little by little he sold the wheat "short," till all but one large lot was gone.
Then all at once, and for no discoverable immediate reason, wheat, amid an explosion of shouts and vociferations, jumped to ninety-four and a quarter, and before the Pit could take breath, had advanced another eighth, broken to one-quarter, then jumped to the five-eighths mark.
It was the Report on the Visible Supply beyond question, and though it had not yet been posted, this sudden flurry was a sign that it was not only near at hand, but would be bullish.
A few moments later it was bulletined in the gallery beneath the dial, and proved a tremendous surprise to nearly every man upon the floor.No one had imagined the supply was so ample, so all-sufficient to meet the demand.Promptly the Pit responded.Wheat began to pour in heavily.Hirsch, Kelly, Grossmann, Leaycraft, the stolid Winston, and the excitable Rusbridge were hard at it.The price began to give.Suddenly it broke sharply.The hand on the great dial dropped to ninety-three and seven-eighths."Landry was beside himself.He had not foreseen this break.There was no reckoning on that cursed "visible," and he still had 50,000 bushels to dispose of.There was no telling now how low the price might sink.He must act quickly, radically.He fought his way towards the Porteous crowd, reached over the shoulder of the little Jew Grossmann, who stood in his way, and thrust his hand almost into Paterson's face, shouting:
"'Sell fifty May at seven-eighths."
It was the last one of his unaccountable selling orders of the early morning.
The other shook his head.
"'Sell fifty May at three-quarters."
Suddenly some instinct warned Landry that another break was coming.It was in the very air around him.He could almost physically feel the pressure of renewed avalanches of wheat crowding down the price.
Desperate, he grabbed Paterson by the shoulder.
"'Sell fifty May at five-eighths."
"Take it," vociferated the other, as though answering a challenge.
