“Nine o'clock was the time, you said,” I suggested deferentially. “I believe it's a minute or two past.”
“Oh, yes,” said Doddridge Knapp, pulling himself together. “Come in here.”
He looked suspiciously at me as he took a seat at his desk, and motioned me to another.
“I had a little turn,” he said, eying me nervously; “a vertigo, I believe the doctor called it. Just reach my overcoat pocket there, will you?—the left-hand side. Yes, bring me that flask.”
He poured out a small glass of liquor, and the rich odor of brandy rose through the room. Then he took a vial from an inside pocket, counted a few drops into the glass, and drank it at a swallow.
I marveled at the actions of the man, and wondered if he was nerving himself to some deed that he lacked courage to perform.
When he had cleared his throat of the fiery liquor, the Wolf turned to me with a more composed and kindly expression.
“I never drink during business hours,” he said with a trace of apology in his tone. “It's bad for business, and for the drink, too. But this is a little trouble I've had a touch of in the last two months. Just remember, young man, that I expect you to do your drinking after business is over—and not too much then. And now to business,” said my employer with decision. “Take down these orders.”
The King of the Street was himself once more, and I marveled again at the quickness and clearness of his directions. I was to buy one hundred shares of this stock, sell five hundred of that stock, buy one thousand of another in blocks of one hundred, and sell the same in a single block at the last session.
“And the last thing you do,” he continued, “buy every share of Omega that is offered. There'll be a big block of it thrown on the market, and more in the afternoon. Buy it, whatever the price. There's likely to be a big slump. Don't bid for it—don't keep up the price, you understand—but get it.”