ALMOST at the minute of eight o’clock next morning the “Rocket” was made fast in berth at an East River pier.
Just about three minutes later a closed automobile rolled out on the wharf. Tom Halstead and Joe Dawson had been invited to go on shore and see the finish of this notable battle of the dollars. Hank, of his own choice, remained behind as watchman over the boat.
The two motor boat boys had changed their uniforms for ordinary street dress, straw hats included. It would have taken a very close friend, indeed, to have recognized Francis Delavan as that gentleman stepped ashore from his boat. Over his natty suit he wore an enveloping linen duster. His eyes and much of his face were obscured behind a pair of automobile goggles. A cap, the peak pulled well down over his eyes, completed the concealment. Few of Mr. Delavan’s most intimate friends would have known him at first or second glance.
The employer and his two young men entered the closed car, which, first of all, rolled away to the bank of which Mr. Oliver was president. Here there were some papers that required the signature of the “Rocket’s” owner.
From the bank the automobile went straight down to the big, grim-looking building in which the New York Stock Exchange is located. Here they arrived five minutes before the opening hour, nine o’clock. Mr. Delavan was already provided with three tickets admitting strangers to the visitors’ gallery.
As they entered the trio found that, at this hour, they had the gallery to themselves. Down on the floor, however, some two or three hundred members of ’Change were already present, gathered in little groups. Though these men talked mostly in undertones, it was evident that there was much excitement.
P. & Y. had not alone suffered. Many other stocks had gone down, “in sympathy.” The outlook was for a gloomy week in financial circles. Many of the more cautious investors of the country at large were watching Wall Street and dreading a panic.
Clang! As a sonorous stroke of a gong opened the morning session the scene became instantly one of turmoil. Bellowing voices broke loose. At that instant Broker Coggswell slipped into the gallery, taking a seat behind Mr. Delavan. The entire little party was well out of range of vision from most of the floor.
“Watch the board,” whispered the broker. “There’s the first quotation—a thousand shares of P. & Y. at 67—and, by Jove, no taker!”
A few moments later information was posted that ten thousand shares of P. & Y. had been offered and sold at 66.