into the
city from the farms and villages. Why was it? Was he not a part of the
movement as well as these girls? Did it not all spring from the
barrenness and vacuity of rural life?

Bradley went to church, for the reason that he had nothing better to
do, and, in order to get as much out of it as possible, went to the
largest sanctuary in the city. The hotels were thronged by men who took
little thought of the day. The rotunda echoed with roaring laughter and
the tramp of feet. Every new member was being introduced and
manipulated, but Bradley shrank from declaring himself. His name, B.
Talcott, conveyed no information to those who saw it on the register,
and so he sat aside from the crowd all day, untouched by the male
lobbyist or the girl office seekers.

He went next day, according to promise, to call at Cargill's office,
which was on the fifth floor of a large six-story building on the main
street. There were two ornamental ground-glass doors opening from the
end of a narrow hall. One was marked, "Bergen & Cargill, Commission
Merchants, Private," and Bradley entered. A man seated at a low table
was operating a telegraphic machine. He was in his shirt sleeves, and
wore blue checked over-sleeves, and carried a handkerchief under his
chin to keep his collar from getting soiled. He sat near two desks
which separated the private room from the larger room, in which were
seated several men looking at one side of the wall, which was a
blackboard checked off in small squares by red lines. Columns of
figures in chalk were there displayed.

Cargill did not seem to be about, and the busy operator did not see the
visitor. A brisk young man of Scandinavian type was walking about in
the larger office with a piece of chalk in his hand. He came to the
desk and looked inquiringly at Bradley, who started to speak, but the
sonorous voice of the operator interrupted him.

"Three eighths bid on wheat," he called, and handed a little slip of
paper to the brisk young man with the flaxen mustache.

"Wheat, three eighths," he repeated in a resonant tone, and proceeded
to put the figures in a small square under the section marked "Wheat"
on the blackboard. When he came back, Bradley asked for Cargill.

"He'll be in soon; take a seat."

"Three eighths bid. They still hammer the market, as they sold short,"
shouted the operator.

Bergen repeated the telegram to the crowd. "Of course they'll do that,"
said one of the smokers, a young m