e must have money, and I have none. I can only dabble in
trifling matters."

"Are you well known on 'change?"

"I spend all my time there, except when I am asleep."

"Then take me to the stock-exchange. I should like to look about me."

Csanta meant, as soon as he could find a suitable purchaser, to sell
his Bondavara shares.

"One can go in the evening?" he asked, as they went along.

"That is the most lively time, particularly on a day like this."

Csanta was now introduced into the Temple of Mammon. Even outside the
door he could hear a strange noise and tumult of voices, and as he
stepped inside his head almost reeled at the strange spectacle. The
large hall was stuffed full of men, who circulated in a narrow circle.
Each one spoke, or rather shrieked, as if all were quarrelling. They
gesticulated with their hands, holding up pieces of paper in the air,
making signs and figures on their fingers, and screaming out names and
making offers until the noise was deafening.

Spitzhase, who was perfectly at home, led Csanta through the throng.
The old merchant was indignant at the manner in which he was pushed
and driven about, no one even begging pardon for his rudeness. He
would have liked to know what was meant by the words so constantly
repeated, "I give!" "I take!" His attention, however, was at once
riveted by another word which seemed to be in every man's mouth, and
which gradually became plainer: "Puntafar! Puntafar!" It dawned upon
him that it must be Bondavar. He stopped and timidly asked one of
those who were shrieking, "Who wants 'Puntafar'? What is the price at
which the Bondavara shares are selling?"

"Thirty over par."

Csanta's eyes blazed. "It is impossible; it cannot be!" he said.
"Yesterday they were at twenty."

"That was yesterday. To-day they are thirty. If you want to buy to
morrow you will have to pay thirty-five. The whole world is buying
the scrip. A rich nabob from India has brought all his silver here,
and bought Puntafar shares. The Dey of Morocco and a Russian prince,
who both own silver mines, have each ordered ten thousand shares. Even
the little folk, who have only a few hundreds, are tearing the shares
out of one another's hands; they won't have anything but Puntafar.
What will you take?"

Csanta had very little idea that he united in his own person the East
Indian nabob, the Dey of Morocco, and the Russian prince, as likewise
that it was he who had caused this uproar. Far fr