he whispered.

He took out his watch, and glanced at it. It was after two o'clock. "It
may go over till to-morrow!" he muttered.--But then suddenly came the
storm.

The ticker recorded a rise in the price of Transcontinental of a point
and a half, upon a purchase of five thousand shares; and then half a
point for two thousand more. After that it never stopped. It went a
point at a time; it went ten points in about fifteen minutes. And babel
broke loose in the office, and in several thousand other offices in the
street, and spread to others all over the world. Montague had got up,
and was moving here and there, because the tension was unendurable; and
at the door of an inner office he heard some one at the telephone
exclaiming, "For the love of God, can't you find out what's the
matter?"--A moment later a man rushed in, breathless and wild-eyed, and
his voice rang through the office, "The directors have declared a
quarterly dividend of three per cent, and an extra dividend of two!"

And Oliver caught his brother by the arm and started for the door with
him. "Get to your broker's," he said. "And if the stock has stopped
moving, sell; and sell in any case before the close." And then he
dashed away to his own headquarters.

At about half after three o'clock, Oliver came into Hammond and
Streeter's, breathless, and with his hair and clothing dishevelled. He
was half beside himself with exultation; and Montague was scarcely less
wrought up--in fact he felt quite limp after the strain he had been
through.

"What price did you get?" his brother inquired; and he answered, "An
average of 78 3/8." There had been another sharp rise at the end, and
he had sold all his stock without checking the advance.

"I got five-eighths," said Oliver. "O ye gods!"

There were some unhappy "shorts" in the office; Mr. Streeter was one of
them. It was bitterness and gall to them to see the radiant faces of
the two lucky ones; but the two did not even see this. They went out,
half dancing, and had a drink or two to steady their nerves.

They would not actually get their money until the morrow; but Montague
figured a profit of a trifle under a quarter of a million for himself.
Of this about twenty thousand would go to make up the share of his
unknown informant; the balance he considered would be an ample reward
for his six hours' work that day.

His brother had won more than twice as much. But as they drove up home,
talking over it in awe-