In the midst of the dust and din Carson caught sight among the crowd of a puffy red face, with grim eyes and the sweeping moustache of an Algerian pirate. He was waving frantically at Carson and yelling:
"My office! Come and pow-wow!"
In five minutes Carson had trailed Rosser to his lair, and they were deep in a discussion of prospects. Rosser's tips were no better than any other, but his opinion on the trend of the market was always worth hearing, and usually as nearly right as possible.
"Shall I sell or hold?" demanded Carson, when his affairs had been laid upon the board and swiftly scanned.
"Hold?" screamed Rosser. "Everything is going to the devil. Do you think I take any stock in this good news? Why—the country is rotten. The British public is steadily selling. This improvement can't last—it's only a flash in the pan. Sell! This is your chance. Sell all you've got. Sell calls—sell your shirt—sell anything—up to ninety days. Destruction comes after."
This was Carson's mood also. But he had an anchor now that deterred him from advancing too gaily towards the breakers. He first examined Rosser from top to toe with steely eyes, then advanced the objection that if he had to pay brokerage on the whole amount out of his call-money, he wouldn't make a heap of profit. Rosser began to prophesy, but without sanctity.
"No calls will be taken up this year. Hell! I've a good mind to run the biggest bear account you've ever dreamt of, Carson. Take my advice and sell, man. Sell on 'fixed delivery' and 'buyer's option' and 'to arrive'—play bear till all is blue." He suddenly became calm and business-like. "Think it over for a few moments while I read my letters, and then decide."
In old days Carson would have embraced the proposition with the devil-may-care philosophy of the usual Rand man, that if "bearing" smashed him up he'd be no worse off than a hundred better men who'd done the same thing before him. But now—he was feverish for gain—the thought of loss was unendurable. Rosser suddenly looked up at him with a waiting smile.
"Well?"
"Damned if I don't do it, Charlie. You can sell calls on everything I've got, this morning—here's the list, and in the afternoon you can sell everything I haven't got on 'fixed delivery,' or 'to arrive.'"