A DAY IN WALL STREET

Grant went at once on his arrival in the city to Mr. Reynolds’ office.  He had in his hand a well-worn valise containing his small stock of clothing.  The broker was just leaving the office for the Stock Exchange as Grant entered.

“So you are punctual,” he said, smiling.

“Yes, sir, I always on time.”

“That is an excellent habit.  Here, Harry.”

In answer to this summons, Harry Becker, a boy two years older and correspondingly larger than Grant, came forward.  He was a pleasant-looking boy, and surveyed Grant with a friendly glance.

“Harry,” said Mr. Reynolds, “this is your successor.  Do me the favor of initiating him into his duties, so that when you leave me he will be qualified to take your place.”

“All right, sir.”

The broker hurried over to the Exchange, and the two boys were left together.

“What is your name?” asked the city boy.

“Grant Thornton.”

“Mine is Harry Becker.  Are you accustomed to the city?”

“No, I am afraid you will find me very green,” answered Grant.

“You are not the boy to remain so long,” said Harry, scrutinizing him attentively.

“I hope not.  You are going to Europe, Mr. Reynolds tells me.”

“Yes, the governor is going to take me.”

“The governor?”

“My father, I mean,” said Harry, smiling.

“I suppose you are not sorry to go?”

“Oh, no; I expect to have a tip-top time.  How would you like it?”

“Very much, if I could afford it, but at present I would rather fill your place in the office.  I am the son of a poor country minister, and must earn my own living.”

“How did you get in with Mr. Reynolds?” asked Harry.

Grant told him.  “Is he easy to get along with?” he inquired, a little anxiously.

“He is very kind and considerate.  Still he is stanch, and expects a boy to serve him faithfully.”

“He has a right to expect that.”

“As I am to break you in, you had better go about with me everywhere.  First, we will go to the post-office.”

The two boys walked to Nassau Street, where the New York post-office was then located.  Harry pointed out the box belonging to the firm, and producing a key opened it, and took out half a dozen letters.

“There may be some stock orders in these letters,” he said; “we will go back to the office, give them to Mr. Clark to open, and then you can go with me to the Stock Exchange.”

Ten minutes later they entered the large room used by the brokers as an Exchange.  Grant looked about him in undisguised astonishment.  It seemed like a pandemonium.  The room was full of men, shouting, gesticulating and acting like crazy men.  The floor was littered with fragments of paper, and on a raised dais were the officers of the Exchange, the chief among them, the chairman, calling rapidly the names of a long list of stocks.  Each name was followed by a confused shouting, which Grant learned afterward to be bids for the stock named.  There were several groups of brokers, each apparently interested in some leading security.  In each of the galleries, one at each end, overlooking the stock room, curious spectators were watching what was going on.