"An answer from the syndicate within a week! My dear Fitz, I see yo'
drift. You have kept the Garden Spots for the foreign investors. That
man is impressed, suh; I saw it in his eye."
The room began filling up with the various customers and loungers
common to such offices: the debonair gentleman in check trousers and
silk hat, with a rose in his button-hole, who dusts his trousers
broadside with his cane--short of one hundred shares with thirty per
cent. margin; the shabby old man with a solemn face who watches the
ticker a moment and then wanders aimlessly out, looking more like an
underpaid clerk in a law office than the president of a crosstown
railroad--long of one thousand shares with no margin at all; the nervous
man who stops the messenger boys and devours the sales' lists before
they can be skewered on the files,--not a dollar's interest either
way; and, last of all, the brokers with little pads and nimble pencils.
[Illustration]
The news that the great English syndicate was looking into the C.
Pages:
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108