lieved he was as invincible in State Street
as he was in Pemberton Square.

Then along came a war-cloud in Europe; stocks began to drop and
provisions to advance. September wheat was then selling in Chicago at
ninety cents. Frye bought fifty thousand bushels on a margin. France and
Germany growled, and wheat rose to ninety-four. Frye sold, clearing two
thousand dollars. Then it dropped a cent, and Frye bought a hundred
thousand bushels more. Once again the war-cloud grew black, and wheat
rose to ninety-eight. The papers were full of wild rumors, and "The Wall
Street Bugle" said wheat would look cheap at a dollar and a half inside
of a month. Then it advanced to one dollar, and Frye lost his head. His
holdings showed a profit of seven thousand dollars, and sudden riches
stared him in the face. Once more the two bellicose foreign powers
growled and showed their teeth. Wheat rose another cent, and Frye
doubled his holdings. Then the powers that had growled smiled faintly,
and in one day wheat fell to ninety-three and remained there. Frye's
holdings now showed a net loss of eight thousand dollars, and he kicked
the office boy out, locked the door in Pemberton Square, and from ten
till three watched the quotations in State Street until wheat fell to
ninety, and then he began to look around to raise more money. He had now
put up over sixteen thousand dollars, and wheat was still falling. At
every drop of a cent he was called upon for two thousand dollars. Day by
day it vibrated, now going up a cent, and then dropping two, and when
Uncle Terry and Albert were discussing how to checkmate his further
robbing of the lighthouse keeper, he was, with muttered curses, watching
his ill-gotten gains vanish to the tune of many thousand dollars per
diem. He neglected his business, went without his meals, and forgot to
shave. He had mortgaged his real estate for twenty thousand, and that
was nearly gone. Wheat was now down to eighty, and France and Germany
were shaking hands. Frye was caught in a trap of his own setting and
could not sleep nights. His margins were almost exhausted, and his
resources as well. He had put up forty thousand dollars, and if wheat
fell three cents more, it would be all swept away. Then he executed a
second mortgage at high interest and waited. It was the last shot in his
locker, and all that stood between him and ruin; but wheat advanced two
cents and he began to hope. He had absolutely ignored business for two