All could now feel the coming panic.  All could see that it was to be a bad one, as the least informed on the floor knew that there was a tremendous amount of Sugar stock in the hands of Washington novices at speculation and of others who had bought it at high prices.  Sugar was now dropping two, three, five dollars a share between trades, and the panic was spreading to the other poles, as is always the case, for when there are sudden large losses in one stock, the losers must throw over the other stocks they hold to meet this loss, and thus the whole structure tumbles like a house of cards.  Sugar had just crossed 110 when the loud bang of the president’s gavel resounded through the room.  Instantly there was a silence as of death.  All knew the meaning of the sound, the most ominous ever heard in a stock exchange, calling for the temporary suspension of business while the president announces the failure of some member or house.

    Perkins, Blanchard & Company

    Announce that They Cannot Meet Their Obligations

This statement that one of the oldest houses had been swamped in the crash Bob had started caused further frantic selling, and, as though every member had employed the lull to refill his lungs, a howl arose that pealed and wailed to the dome.

I watched Bob closely; in fact, it was impossible for me to take my eyes off him; he seemed absolutely unmindful of the agonised shrieks about him, for the frenzied brokers were no longer crying their bids or offers, but screaming them.  He still continued relentlessly to hammer Sugar, offering it in thousand and tens of thousand lots.

Again and again the gavel fell, and again and again an announcement of failure was followed by blood-curdling howls.  When Sugar struck 80—­not 180, but plain 80—­it seemed that the last day of stock speculation was at hand.  Announcements were being made every few minutes of the failure of this bank, the closing of the doors of that trust company.  Where would it end?  What power could stop this Niagara of molten dollars?  Suddenly above the tumult rose Bob Brownley’s voice.  He must have been standing on his tiptoes.  His hands were raised aloft.  He seemed to tower a head above the mob.  His voice was still clear and unimpaired by the terrible strain of the past two hours.  To that mob it must have sounded like the trumpet of the delivering angel. “80 for any part of 25,000 Sugar.”  Instantly Sugar was hurled at him from all sides of the crowd.  He was the only buyer of moment who had appeared since Sugar broke 125.  Barry Conant and his lieutenants had disappeared like snowflakes at the opening of the door of the firebox of a locomotive speeding through the storm.  In a few seconds Bob had been sold all the 25,000 he had bid for.  Again his voice rang out:  “80 for 25,000.”  The sellers momentarily halted.  He got only a few thousands of his twenty-five. “85 for 25,000.”  A few thousands more. “90 for 25,000.”  Still fewer thousands.  His bidding was beginning to tell on the mob.  A cry ran through the room into the crowds around the other poles—­“Brownley has turned!”—­and taking renewed courage at the report, the bulls rallied their forces and began to bid for the different stocks, which a moment before it had seemed that no one wanted at any price.