“I made a jump and grabbed his hand just as he pulled the trigger. That’s all I know about it.”
“Your presence of mind prevented a sad tragedy. Bird is a good fellow, and it is evident Hartz turned the screws on him down to the last notch. Nothing short of absolute ruin would cause Oliver to lose his head. The fact that he had a revolver shows that he went to Hartz in a desperate frame of mind. It seems to me, young man,” added Mr. Bishop, with a smile, “that you are determined to keep your name before the public. If you are not interviewed by a reporter inside of thirty minutes I shall be much surprised.”
“Say, Jack, you’re a wonder!” exclaimed Frank Simpson, after the new messenger had narrated to him the affair at Hartz’s office. “I’ve just been reading the account in the ‘Herald’ of how you saved the boss’s niece, Fanny, from drowning in the East River. All the clerks are talking about you. Gee! I wish I had your nerve!”
But the two boys hadn’t much time for talking.
Business was beginning to rush on Wall Street.
Simpson was presently sent on an errand down Broad Street, and shortly afterward Jack was sent to the New Street entrance of the Stock Exchange with an envelope for Mr. Atherton, who was busy on the floor.
It was several minutes before he was able to reach Mr. Atherton, and during that interval the boy gazed upon the tumultuous scene before him with something like wonder, for it was new to him.
The crowd of brokers was divided into a dozen or more groups, more or less clearly defined, shrinking or increasing in size from time to time as the excitement grew or waned around that particular bone of contention.
And the roar and hubbub flowed and ebbed in like manner in different sections of the Exchange floor.
“I’ll sell a thousand at eighty-six and an eighth!” shouted Mr. Atherton.