We got together at his office in the Board of Trade building to play off the finals with the bull crowd.  We’d had inspectors busy all night passing the lard which we’d gathered together and which was arriving by boat-loads and train-loads.  Then, before ’Change opened, we passed the word around through our brokers that there wasn’t any big short interest left, and to prove it they pointed to the increase in the stocks of Prime Steam in store and gave out the real figures on what was still in transit.  By the time the bell rang for trading on the floor we had built the hottest sort of a fire under the market, and thirty minutes after the opening the price of the November option had melted down flat to twelve cents.

We gave the bulls a breathing space there, for we knew we had them all nicely rounded up in the killing-pens, and there was no hurry.  But on toward noon, when things looked about right, we jumped twenty brokers into the pit, all selling at once and offering in any sized lots for which they could find takers.  It was like setting off a pack of firecrackers—­biff! bang! bang! our brokers gave it to them, and when the smoke cleared away the bits of that busted corner were scattered all over the pit, and there was nothing left for us to do but to pick up our profits; for we had swung a loss of millions over to the other side of the ledger.

Just as we were sending word to our brokers to steady the market so as to prevent a bad panic and failures, the door of the private office flew open, and in bounced Mr. Percy, looking like a hound dog that had lapped up a custard pie while the cook’s back was turned and is hunting for a handy bed to hide under.  Had let his cigarette go out—­he wore one in his face as regularly as some fellows wear a pink in their buttonhole—­and it was drooping from his lower lip, instead of sticking up under his nose in the old sporty, sassy way.

“Oh, gov’ner!” he cried as he slammed the door behind him; “the market’s gone to hell.”

“Quite so, my son, quite so,” nodded Old Ham approvingly; “it’s the bottomless pit to-day, all right, all right.”

I saw it coming, but it came hard.  Percy sputtered and stuttered and swallowed it once or twice, and then it broke loose in: 

“And oh! gov’ner, I’m caught—­in a horrid hole—­you’ve got to help me out!”

“Eh! what’s that!” exclaimed the old man, losing his just-after-a-hearty-meal expression.  “What’s that—­caught—­speculating, after what I’ve said to you!  Don’t tell me that you’re one of that bull crowd—­Don’t you dare do it, sir.”

“Ye-es,” and Percy’s voice was scared back to a whisper; “yes; and what’s more, I’m the whole bull crowd—­the Great Bull they’ve all been talking and guessing about.”