Then, Landry, beside himself with excitement and with actual terror, hardly knowing even yet what he did, turned sharply about. He fought his way out of the Pit; he ran hatless and panting across the floor, in and out between the groups of spectators, down the stairs to the corridor below, and into the Gretry-Converse offices.
In the outer office a group of reporters and the representatives of a great commercial agency were besieging one of the heads of the firm. They assaulted him with questions.
"Just tell us where you are at—that's all we want to know."
"Just what is the price of July wheat?"
"Is Jadwin winning or losing?"
But the other threw out an arm in a wild gesture of helplessness.
"We don't know, ourselves," he cried. "The market has run clean away from everybody. You know as much about it as I do. It's simply hell broken loose, that's all. We can't tell where we are at for days to come."
Landry rushed on. He swung open the door of the private office and entered, slamming it behind him and crying out:
"Mr. Gretry, what are we to do? We've had no orders."
But no one listened to him. Of the group that gathered around Gretry's desk, no one so much as turned a head.