n there hours ahead
of time this morning."

"How is Curtis?" demanded Laura. "Have you seen him lately? How is he
getting on with--with his speculating?"

Landry made a sharp gesture of resignation.

"I don't know," he answered. "I guess nobody knows. We had a fearful
day yesterday, but I think we controlled the situation at the end. We
ran the price up and up and up till I thought it would never stop. If
the Pit thought Mr. Jadwin was beaten, I guess they found out how they
were mistaken. For a time there, we were just driving them. But then
Mr. Gretry sent word to us in the Pit to sell, and we couldn't hold
them. They came back at us like wolves; they beat the price down five
cents, in as many minutes. We had to quit selling, and buy again. But
then Mr. Jadwin went at them with a rush. Oh, it was grand! We steadied
the price at a dollar and fifteen, stiffened it up to eighteen and a
half, and then sent it up again, three cents at a time, till we'd
hammered it back to a dollar and a quarter."

"But Curtis himself," inquired Laura, "is he all right, is he well?"

"I only saw him once," answered Landry. "He was in Mr. Gretry's office.
Yes, he looked all right. He's nervous, of course. But Mr. Gretry looks
like the sick man. He looks all frazzled out."

"I guess, we'd better be going," said Page, getting up from the table.
"Have you had your breakfast, Landry? Won't you have some coffee?"

"Oh, I breakfasted hours ago," he answered. "But you are right. We had
better be moving. If you are going to get a seat in the gallery, you
must be there half an hour ahead of time, to say the least. Shall I
take any word to your husband from you, Mrs. Jadwin?"

"Tell him that I wish him good luck," she answered, "and--yes, ask him,
if he remembers what day of the month this is--or no, don't ask him
that. Say nothing about it. Just tell him I send him my very best love,
and that I wish him all the success in the world."

It was about nine o'clock, when Landry and Page reached the foot of La
Salle Street. The morning was fine and cool. The sky over the Board of
Trade sparkled with sunlight, and the air was full of fluttering wings
of the multitude of pigeons that lived upon the leakage of grain around
the Board of Trade building.

"Mr. Cressler used to feed them regularly," said Landry, as they paused
on the street corner opposite the Board. "Poor--poor Mr. Cressler--the
funeral is to-morrow, you know."

Page shut her eyes.