"Now, Friends!" he calls, "Everybody in on the chorus."
I was in Hubbs' office when the first real money was paid over for Gopher. A hook-nosed young broker in a shepherd plaid suit and a pink felt hat rushes in and planks down twenty dollars for fifty shares at the market. Hubbs was just passin' 'em over too, when Steele interferes.
"Five more, please," says J. Bayard. "We are holding Gopher at 50."
"Wha'd'ye mean, fifty?" gasps the curb man. But he was short on a three-fifteen delivery, and he had to put up the extra five.
"Stick to that rule," Steele advises Hubbs. "Ask 'em ten points more than outside quotations."
What really got things goin', though, was when some of the stock clerks and bookkeepers, who'd heard and talked nothin' but Gopher these last two days, begun buyin' lots outright and turnin' 'em in for deeds. Whether or not they believed all Hubbs had fed 'em about Gopher don't matter. They was takin' a chance. So they slips out at noon and gives real orders. Course, they wa'n't plungin'; but the combined effect was the same.
And it don't take the curb long to get wise. "The suckers are buying Gopher," was the word passed round. Then maybe the quotations didn't jump! There wa'n't any quarter matchin' down in Broad street after that. They was too busy yellin' Gopher at each other. Up she went,—75, then 85, then 110, and when closin' hour come the third day it was the liveliest scene inside the ropes that the margin district had known in years.
I expect the newspapers helped a lot too. They had a heap of fun with Hubbs and his Gopher proposition,—Hubbs of Gopher, U.S.A. They printed pictures of him playin' the accordion, and interviews reproducin' his descriptive gems about "the banks of the pellucid Pinto," and such.