"I won't get there until the Exchange closes," he muttered; "and with my affairs in the state they are—— Well, I can't understand what ever made me such an infernal——"
The sentence was interrupted by the arrival of the train.
Andrew Pryor rushed in pell-mell, took his seat, and imagined that the train had never run with such exasperating slowness as upon that occasion.
It came to an end at last, however, and colliding with everything and everybody where collision was possible, he rushed on.
At the very entrance of the Stock Exchange he ran directly into the boy whom he had sent upon the errand.
"What in thunder did you tell Caswell?" cried the old man, excitedly. "Quick!"
The expression of the boy's face was laughable, but partaking of his excitement, he answered, breathlessly:
"I hope I have not done wrong, sir; but going down in the train I remembered that Northwest preferred had been jumping at an astonishing rate the last few days, and I thought you must have gotten the order mixed."
"And you reversed it?"
"I did. Selling Western Union. Seller 60, and——"