His grandfather had been the money’s conqueror, his father its guardian and he, it seemed, was to become its adventurer. No matter, chance helped adventurers.
His nights became very long. Restlessly, Christopher turned his head from one side to the other on his hot pillow. He rose early. He was no longer contented to send his agents on ’Change. He wanted to see the confusion, hear the noise, feel the universal pulsation of money as evinced in the excitement of the crowd.
He rushed through the office. Otto Füger had become manager with full powers. He arranged the cover for speculations, he received and paid out money in the name of the firm. Christopher had no time to see to anything. In unbusinesslike handwriting he put his name to anything. Then he rushed away, leaving the doors open behind him.
It was a lovely May morning.
At the Exchange in Dorothea Street brokers stood on the stairs and transacted their business, leaning against the balustrade. Men stood in small groups in the acid, stuffy air of the cloak-room. Subdued talk was heard here and there. An old fat man with his hat perched on the back of his head, passed wheat between his fingers from one hand to the other. Near the window a red-haired broker held some crushed maize in the palm of his hand. He lifted it up, now and then, and at intervals pushed his tongue out between his yellow teeth. Scattered grain crackled under people’s feet.
Doors banged in the big hall of the Stock Exchange. The lesser fry was pushed back. There was a crush round the bankers’ boxes. Slowly the masters of the Exchange arrived. People saluted them respectfully, as if they were paid for it. The unimportant ones used to read their faces, the gestures of their hands. The great ones looked indifferent, though they were the men who held the secrets which mean money. Nervous heads swayed round a fat, owl-like face. Those behind pressed eagerly forward.
Near Christopher a red-eyed, seedy-looking man shrank to the wall. A worn out, long, silk purse was in his hand. He began to suck the ivory ring of the purse; people collided with him and the ring knocked against his teeth; but he went on sucking it.
“I sell....”
“I buy ...” cries came from all sides like the shrieks of hawks.
Somebody’s hat fell on the floor ... it was trampled under foot. A freckled hand waved a bundle of papers.