At this, half a dozen clamorous hands were raised and shaken at him furiously.
“Any part of a thousand at eighty-six,” continued the broker.
At this, Jack saw Hartz break into the circle with his hand upraised and a wild Comanche yell.
Atherton said something, and both men made entries on their tablets.
Shortly afterward Mr. Atherton withdrew from the bunch, and then Jack saw his opportunity to deliver his message.
He received several slips in return, with orders to hurry back to the office.
Simpson was out, and he had no chance this time to warm the seat of the chair, for Mr. Bishop sent him out again immediately.
And he was kept on the go with scarcely a chance to swallow a cup of coffee and eat a sandwich, until after the Exchange closed, at three o’clock.
“Mr. Bird has been here inquiring for you, Jack,” said Mr. Bishop, as the lad laid the firm’s bank-book on his desk after making the day’s deposit. “He wants to see you at his office. You had better run over now.”
“All right, sir.” And the lad passed out into the street again.