“‘I want to see the big fellers,’ says he.  ’S’pose that fat one is Morgan?’

“‘I don’t know,’ says I.  ’Me and Pierpont ain’t met for ever so long.  Don’t lean over and point so; you’re makin’ a hit.’

“He was, too.  Some of the younger crew on the floor was lookin’ up and grinnin’, and more kept stoppin’ and joinin’ in all the time.  I cal’late we looked kind of green and soft, hangin’ over that marble rail, like posies on a tombstone; and green is the favorite color to a stockbroker, they tell me.  Anyhow, we had a good-sized congregation under us in less than no time.  Likewise, they got chatty, and commenced to unload remarks.

“‘Land sakes!’ says one.  ‘How’s punkins?’

“‘How’s crops down your way?’ says another.

“Now there wa’n’t nothin’ real bright and funny about these questions—­more fresh than new, they struck me—­but you’d think they was gems from the comic almanac, jedgin’ by the haw-haws.  Next minute a little bald-headed smart Alec, with clothes that had a tailor’s sign hull down and out of the race, steps to the front and commences to make a speech.

“‘Gosh t’mighty, gents,’ says he.  ’With your kind permission, I’ll sing “When Reuben Comes to Town."’

“And he did sing it, too, in a voice that needed cultivatin’ worse’n a sandy front yard.  And with every verse the congregation whooped and laughed and cheered.  When the anthem was concluded, all hands set up a yell and looked at us to see how we took it.

“As for me, I was b’ilin’ mad and mortified and redhot all over.  But Sim Phinney was as cool as an October evenin’.  Once in a while old Sim comes out right down brilliant, and he done it now.  He smiled, kind of tolerant and easy, same as you might at the tricks of a hand-organ monkey.  Then he claps his hands, applaudin’ like, reaches into his pocket, brings up a couple of pennies, and tosses ’em down to little baldhead, who was standin’ there blown up with pride.

“For a minute the crowd was still.  And then such a yell as went up!  The whole floor went wild.  Next thing I knew the gallery was filled with brokers, grabbin’ us by the hands, poundin’ us on the back, beggin’ us to come have a drink, and generally goin’ crazy.  We was solid with the ‘system’ for once in our lives.  We could have had that whole buildin’, from marble decks to gold maintruck, if we’d said the word.  Fifty yellin’ lunatics was on hand to give it to us; the other two hundred was joyfully mutilatin’ the baldhead.

“Well, I wanted to get away, and so did Sim, I guess; but the crowd wouldn’t let us.  We’d got to have a drink; hogsheads of drinks.  That was the best joke on Eddie Lewisburg that ever was.  Come on!  We must come on!  Whee!  Wow!

“I don’t know how it would have ended if some one hadn’t butted head first through the mob and grabbed me by the shoulder.  I was ready to fight by this time, and maybe I’d have begun to fight if the chap who grabbed me hadn’t been a few inches short of seven foot high.  And, besides that, I knew him.  ’Twas Sam Holden, a young feller I knew when he boarded here one summer.  His wife boarded here, too, only she wa’n’t his wife then.  Her name was Grace Hargrave and she was a fine girl.  Maybe you remember ’em, Sol?”