lockwork. The whole five hundred and sixty-one
thousand shares were bought and sold; and from first to last there came
never a glimpse of Mr. Bayard.

It had been Mr. Bayard's earlier thought to let Northern Consolidated
fall as low as twenty-five. For the sake of poor men in peril from that
defiance of all things German, Mr. Bayard in the last hours of his
preparations decided to support the market. To hold Northern
Consolidated above thirty against the double pressure of a falling
market and a "bear" raid would be to the general stock list as a prop to
a leaning wall. It would save hundreds from annihilation, and Mr. Bayard
resolved for their rescue. It would cost him nothing, lose him nothing;
once cornered, the question whether that osprey pool were cornered at
twenty or at thirty or at forty was unimportant. The corner complete,
Mr. Bayard with a breath could put Northern Consolidated to fifty, to
one hundred, to five hundred, to one thousand! The measure of his
triumph would be the measure of the mercy of Mr. Bayard. _Vae Victis!_
Our Brennus of the Stocks might demand from the members of the
vanquished pool their final shilling. He might strip them as he was
stripped those thirty years before, and turn them forth naked. For thus
read the iron statutes of the Stock Exchange where quarter is unknown.

It was Mr. Bayard who caused Northern Consolidated to climb,
squirrel-wise, to forty-three as the market closed on Friday, and later
to fifty-eight. It had the effect desired; there came the call for
margins. Storri, who had put his last dollar to the hazard, went down,
exhausted, destroyed, and under foot, and, as parcel of the spoils of
that Russian's overthrow, those French shares were sent to Mr. Bayard.
Within ten minutes after he received them they were on their way to
Richard, with a letter telling how complete had been the osprey pool's
defeat. For all his dignity and his gray crown of sixty years, Mr.
Bayard's eyes were shining like the eyes of a child with a new toy. What
battle was to that Scriptural hero's warhorse so was the strife of
stocks as breath in the nostrils of Mr. Bayard. Richard's eyes were as
bright as those of Mr. Bayard when he received the French shares, but it
was a softer brightness born of thoughts of Dorothy, and in no wise to
be confounded with that battle-glitter which shone in the eyes of the
other. Thus ran the note of Mr. Bayard:

Dear Mr. Storms:

Our bears are safel