There were $400,000,000 at stake on the game. The bear syndicate thought they were playing with loaded dice, and so they were, but the load was against them, instead of being in their favor.
On Sunday night a private conference was held at Mr. Claybank’s residence, on Fifth Avenue.
“To-morrow,” said Gray, “let us stop selling and begin buying, and cover as rapidly as possible. There are some features of the situation which fill me with uneasiness.”
“Ont so I thinks, Misder Gray,” said Wolf. “I don’t gomprehent where the money comes from on Fritay and Saturtay with which our sales were met. As I figure it, we hat every tollar locked up on Thurstay that was anywhere available, but so much as a huntret, or, maby, a huntret and fifty millions of new money came into the street on yesterday and Fritay.”
“It probably came from Chicago,” said Claybank.
“No,” replied Wolf. “Chicago sent only fifty millions, ont it vas all here by Wednesday. It buzzles me, ont I ton’t like it, ont I believe it is full time to commence closing the deal.”
It was, accordingly, agreed to close it, and on Monday morning these three worthies appeared in their seats in the Stock Exchange, for they were all members of that body, although they seldom or never participated in its proceedings, preferring to transact their business through other brokers.
Morning was also a member of the Stock Exchange, having purchased a seat a year previously, but he did not often appear there, and had never bought or sold a share of stock himself in open board. Even amid the excitement of the panic, his presence gave interest to the occasion, for his sobriquet of the “Gold King” attached legitimately to his ownership of a mine that was yielding $4,000,000 per month, with the probability of making its owner in a few years the greatest billionaire in the world.
There were probably few among the active members of the Stock Exchange who did not, at this time, know nearly as much about the causes of the panic as even the three men who produced it, and among all the brokers, except those in the employment of the syndicate, only indignation was expressed at the operations of Wolf, Claybank, and Gray. The New York stockbroker is neither a Shylock nor a miser. He is usually a genial, generous sort of fellow, who prefers a bull market to a bear raid. He likes to make money himself and have everybody else make it. A boom is his delight, and a panic his abhorrence. If a majority of the board of brokers could have had their way, they would have hung the members of the syndicate to the gallery railings, and the question of reaching them in some lawful way, and relieving the board from the effects of their conspiracy, had been informally discussed.
But nothing was attempted, because nothing seemed really practicable. It was well known that the existing condition of things had been produced by locking up the currency. So long as it remained locked up, prices must remain at whatever figures the conspirators might choose to place them. Only the power that withdrew the money from circulation, could restore it to the channels of commerce. There was absolutely nothing for those not already ruined to do except to hide in the jungle until the three tigers should have fully gorged themselves. When Claybank, Gray, and Wolf should graciously permit the money to be unlocked, then stocks would advance to their real value, business would resume its proper channels, and the panic would be over—and not until then.