“The wire in booth number two is waiting for you, Mr. Moddridge.”
“Come in the booth with me, Halstead,” begged Moddridge, shaking. “I may need you, if my voice is too unsteady.”
So the young skipper followed his employer’s friend into the booth, making sure that the door was tightly closed. Hardly had this been done when three of the reporters, who had followed in another carriage, entered the office. The manager, however, would not allow them near the booth.
The telephone instrument was already directly connected with a broker’s office in Wall Street, New York City. Immediately after he had rung Moddridge asked:
“Is that you, Coggswell? How is everything going?”
Tom Halstead, standing close to the receiver, could hear the reply:
“Oh, is that you, Mr. Moddridge? Where on earth is Mr. Delavan?”
“He is not here just now.”
“Mr. Moddridge,” came the earnest voice from the other end of the wire, “I hope you will be able to get hold of Mr. Delavan at the earliest possible moment. P. & Y. has gone down, to-day, from 102 to 91. There’ll be a further drop unless you can bring Delavan to the fore.”