But one felt these things only dimly, when he had put all his fortune into Transcontinental Common.  For then he had sold his own soul to the enchanter, and the spell was upon him, and he hoped and feared and agonized with the struggling throng.  Montague had no need to ask which was his “post”; for a mob of a hundred men were packed about it, with little whirls and eddies here and there on the outside.  “Something doing to-day all right,” said a man in his ear.

It was interesting to watch; but there was one difficulty—­there were no quotations provided for the spectators.  So the sight of this activity merely set them on edge with anxiety—­something must be happening to their stock!  Even Oliver was visibly nervous—­after all, in the surest cases, the game was a dangerous one; there might be a big failure, or an assassination, or an earthquake!  They rushed out and made for the nearest broker’s office, where a glance at the board showed them Transcontinental at 60.  They drew a long breath, and sat down again to wait.

That was about half-past eleven.  At a quarter to twelve the stock went up an eighth, and then a quarter, and then another eighth.  The two gripped their hands in excitement.  Had the time come?

Apparently it had.  A minute later the stock leaped to 61, on large buying.  Then it went three-eighths more.  A buzz of excitement ran through the office, and the old-timers sat up in their seats.  The stock went another quarter.

Montague heard a man behind him say to his neighbour, “What does it mean?”

“God knows,” was the answer; but Oliver whispered in his brother’s ear, “I know what it means.  The insiders are buying.”

Somebody was buying, and buying furiously.  The ticker seemed to set all other business aside and give its attention to the trading in Transcontinental.  It was like a base-ball game, when one side begins to pile up runs, and the man in the coacher’s box chants exultantly, and the dullest spectator is stirred—­since no man can be indifferent to success.  And as the stock went higher and higher, a little wave of excitement mounted with it, a murmur running through the room, and a thrill passing from person to person.  Some watched, wondering if it would last, and if they had not better take on a little; then another point would be scored, and they would wish they had done it, and hesitate whether to do it now.  But to others, like the Montagues, who “had some,” it was victory, glorious and thrilling; their pulses leaped faster with every new change of the figures; and between times they reckoned up their gains, and hung between hope and dread for the new gains which were on the way, but not yet in sight.

There was little lull, and the boys who tended the board had a chance to rest.  The stock was above 66; at which price, owing to the device of “pyramiding.”  Montague was on “velvet,” to use the picturesque phrase of the Street.  His earnings amounted to sixty thousand dollars, and even if the stock were to fall and he were to be sold out, he would lose nothing.