flag in the center: he was a full-fledged volunteer in the
United States Army.

On the return trip Taney became communicative, and told the story of the
eighth of May, that terrible day in Wall Street when billions melted
away like butter, when thousands of persons were tossed about in the
whirlpool of the Stock Exchange, when the very foundations of economic
life seemed to be slipping away. He described the wild scenes when
desperate financiers rushed about like madmen, and told how some of them
actually lost their reason during the bitter struggle for existence,
when not an inch of ground was vacated without resistance. Men fought
for every projecting rock, every piece of wreckage, every straw, as they
must have fought in the waves of the Flood, and yet one victim after
another was swallowed by the vortex. In the midst of the mad scrimmage
on the floor of the Exchange one excited individual, the general manager
of a large railroad--with his hair disheveled and the perspiration
streaming down his face, one of his sleeves ripped out and his collar
torn off--suddenly climbed on a platform and began to preach a confused
sermon accompanied by wild gestures; others, whose nerves were utterly
unstrung by the terrible strain, joined in vulgar street-songs.

Harrison had read about these things in the papers, but his friend's
graphic description brought it all vividly to mind again and caused him
to shudder. He seemed to see all the ruined existences, which the
maelstrom in Wall Street had dragged down into the depths, staring at
him with haggard faces. He thought of his own simple, plain life as
compared with the neurasthenic existence of the men on the Stock
Exchange, who were now compelled to look on in complete apathy and let
things go as they were. The rich man, whom in the bottom of his heart
he had often envied, was now poorer than the Italian bootblack standing
beside him.

The ferry-boat now turned sharply aside to make room for the giant
_Mauretania_, which was steaming out majestically from its pier into the
broad Hudson River.

The thrilling notes of the "Star Spangled Banner" had just died away,
and a sea of handkerchiefs fluttered over the railings, which were
crowded with passengers waving their last farewells to those left
behind. Then the ship's band struck up a new tune, and the enormous
steamer plowed through the waves towards the open sea.

"There go the rats who have deserted the sinking ship," said