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Bob Brownley's great brown eyes were closed, his clasped hands had dropped against his wife's head, and in dropping had unloosed the glorious golden-brown waves until in fond abandon they had coiled around his arms and brow as though she for whom he had sacrificed all was shielding his beloved head from the chills and dark mists of the black river that laps the brink of the eternal rest.
He agrees to buy to the limit of his fortune of a billion dollars. I now put Mr. Brownley's request to a vote. All those in favour of granting it will signify the same by saying 'Yes." A mighty roof-lifting "Yes" sounded through the room. "All those opposed, 'No." There was a deathly hush. "Mr.
If the Governing Committee could thus call the broker to account, the professional bear or the schemer, who desired to prevent him from selling, would have but to pass the word to the president of the Exchange that the broker in question was about to work Brownley's discovery and he could be taken from the crowd and before he returned his place could be taken by others and he could be ruined.
"Don't Brownley's farm-buildings look strange to you, now they have been moved bodily from the hollow where the old ones stood to the top of the hill?" She admitted that they did, though she should not have seen any difference in them if he had not pointed it out. She said "Yes," but looking at another orchard. "Why, you are looking at John-apple-trees!
Beulah Sands had gone beyond her limit and was at peace. The awful groaning stopped and an ashen pallor spread over Bob Brownley's face. Before I could catch him he rolled backward upon the floor as dead. Bob Brownley, too, had gone beyond his limit.
Randolph, please forget what you have seen. For an instant, as I saw Mr. Brownley's awful misery, I thought of nothing but what he had done for me, what he had tried to do for my father, what a penalty he has paid. From what you said when you left and the fact that I got no word from either of you, I feared the worst and did not dare look at the tape; I simply waited and hoped and prayed.
The deafening roar of the brokers that had broken the stillness following Robert Brownley's fateful speech had awakened echoes that threatened to shake down the Exchange walls. The surging mob on the outside was roaring like a million hungry lions in an Arbestan run at slaughter time. The instant after the gong sounded Bob Brownley was alone on the floor at the foot of the president's desk.
What power could stop this Niagara of molten dollars? Suddenly above the tumult rose Bob Brownley's voice. He must have been standing on his tiptoes. His hands were raised aloft. He seemed to tower a head above the mob. His voice was still clear and unimpaired by the terrible strain of the past two hours. To that mob it must have sounded like the trumpet of the delivering angel.
A man of this class will reason: I know scores of men, who stand high on 'the Street' and in the social world, who have tens of millions that they have filched by 'System' tricks, if not by legal crimes. If I perform this trick of Brownley's, the trick of selling short until a panic is produced, I shall make millions and none will be the wiser.
It is rumoured that Mr. Brownley of Randolph & Randolph, either for himself or his clients cleared twenty-five millions of profit. We believe that this estimate is low. The losses coming through Robert Brownley's terrible onslaught must have run over five hundred millions. Wall Street and the country will do well to take the moral of yesterday's market to their heart.
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