While every other man in the crowd was at a high tension of excitement, Barry Conant was as calm as though standing in the centre of a ten-acre daisy-field cutting off the helpless flowers’ heads with every swing of his arm.  Switching stock-gamblers into eternity had grown to be a pastime to Barry Conant.  Here was Bob thundering with terrific emphasis “78 for 5,000,” “77 for 5,000,” “75 for 5,000,” “74 for 5,000,” “73 for 5,000,” “72 for 5,000,” seemingly expecting through sheer power of voice to crush his opponent into silence.  But with the regularity of a trip-hammer Barry Conant’s right hand, raised in unhurried gesture, and his clear calm “Sold” met Bob’s every retreating bid.  It was a battle royal—­a king on one side, a Richelieu on the other.  Though there was frantic buying and selling all around these two generals, the trading was gauged by the trend of their battle.  All knew that if Bob should be beaten down by this concentrated modern finance devil, a panic would ensue and Sugar would go none could say how low.  But if Bob should play him to a standstill by exhausting his selling power, Sugar would quickly soar to even higher figures than before.  It was known that Barry Conant’s usual order from his clients, the “System” masters, for such an occasion as the present was “Break the price at any cost.”  On the other hand, every one knew that Randolph & Randolph were usually behind Bob’s big operations; this was evidently one of his biggest; and every man there knew that Randolph & Randolph were seldom backed down by any force.

As Bob made his bid “72 for 5,000,” and got it, I saw a quick flash of pain shoot across his face, and realised that it probably meant he was nearing the end of my last order.  I sized it up that there was deviltry of more than usual significance behind this selling movement; that Barry Conant must have unlimited orders to sell and smash.  My final order of fifty thousand brought our total up to one hundred and fifty thousand shares, a large amount for even Randolph & Randolph to buy of a stock selling at nearly $200 a share.  I then and there decided that whatever happened I would go no further.  Just then Bob’s wild eye caught mine, and there was in it a piteous appeal, such an appeal as one sees in the eye of the wounded doe when she gives up her attempt to swim to shore and waits the coming of the pursuing hunter’s canoe.  I sadly signaled that I was through.  As Bob caught the sign, he threw his head back and bellowed a deep, hoarse “70 for 10,000.”  I knew then that he had already bought forty thousand, and that this was the last-ditch stand.  Barry Conant must have caught the meaning too.  Instantly, like a revolver report, came his “Sold!” Then the compact, miniature mass of human springs and wires, which had until now been held in perfect control, suddenly burst from its clamps, and Barry Conant was the fiend his Wall Street reputation pictured him.  His five feet five inches seemed to loom to the height