Meantime in the office of Richards & Tuttle Mr. Robison was carefully following the course of the stock-market. The lower Steel went the higher Robison rose in the estimation of the firm, the customers, and the office-boys.
In one of the interludes between the slumps George B. Richards asked in a voice which one might say sweated respect:
“What do you think now, Mr. Robison?”
The office had been doing a great business and the big room with the quotation-board that took one side was crowded with customers. These customers, with eyes that shone greedily, drew near and frankly listened to the colloquy. They were all happy because they were all short of Steel, and they were all short of Steel because a mysterious stranger had scented a strange mystery ten minutes ahead of Wall Street.
“Yes?” said Mr. Robison, absently.
“What do you think now?”
“What do I think now?” repeated Mr. Robison, mechanically.
“Yes, sir,” said George B. Richards, in the tone of voice of an office-boy about to ask for a day off. Robison stared unseeingly at the broker. Then, with a little start, he said so distinctly that every listening customer heard very plainly:
“I have not changed my opinion. When I do I'll let you know.”
“It looks to me,” persisted Richards, fishing for information, “that they can't keep on going down forever.”