Lang had not expected to be rushed into action so quickly. He produced the stock reluctantly.
“I don’t know—what would you advise?” he hesitated.
“Oh, you’ve got the scrip,” said the broker, flipping the papers over. “A hundred. If you want to sell you’d better be quick. We never advise our customers. We only give them the facts as we see them. But the bottom’s dropping right out of it.”
Still wavering uneasily, Lang gave the order to sell.
There was nothing then but to wait till it was executed. They lighted cigars and added to the volume of smoke that swirled through the excited room of the cotton gamblers. The market was still going up; the excitement was crescendo. But Lang and Carroll continually returned to watch the New York stock ticker.
Yuma Oil read 59-1/4, then 59-1/8, then 59, then up an eighth, then it broke all at once to 58-3/4. At what price their stock had been sold they could not tell.
But they got quick action, after all. Within half an hour Dixon announced that he had sold at 58-1/4. By the time they got the news, the stock had sunk to 57-1/2. Clear of all commissions, the sale would net about five thousand eight hundred dollars.
“Good!” exclaimed Carroll. “But this is only a start. It’s going lower—a lot lower. Now’s our chance for a killing!”
He spoke in an intense whisper; his face was flushed. The broker came back holding the slip.
“Do you want your check, gentlemen, or are you trading again?”