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Updated: June 16, 2025
Brownley," the voice was now calm and self-controlled, "tell me what you have done. Where do we stand?" "There is little to tell," Bob answered. "Camemeyer and 'Standard Oil' have taken me into camp as they would take a stuck pig. They have made a monkeyfied ass out of me, and we are ruined, and I have caused Mr. Randolph a heavy loss.
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.
I could not for the life of me see where Bob Brownley could have got five to ten millions' backing for such a raid, much less fifty to a hundred. Yet I was forced to confess that he must have had some tremendous backing; else how could he have done what I had seen him do? Bob left his wife at his mother's house while he went to Sands Landing to the funeral.
"Men of Wall Street" his voice was now deep and solemn "to show that Robert Brownley knew what was fitting for the last day of his career, he has revealed to you the trick and more. "Many of you are desperate. Many of you by to-morrow will be ruined. The time of all times for such to put my trick in practice is now. The victim of victims is ready for the experiment. I am he.
I was to have had the profits on 20,000 shares. Our total loss is $2,775,000, of which I must bear my just proportion. Mr. Brownley, you will see that $370,000 is charged to my account. I shall have $30,000 left. If our cause is as just as we think, God in his goodness will make this ample for our purposes."
Bob Brownley, when himself, was as fond of his "baby brother," as he called him, as his beautiful Southern mother was of both; but when the devil had possession of Bob and his option during the past five years had been exercised many a time mother and brother had to take their place with all the rest of the world, for then Bob knew no kindred, no friends.
A cry ran through the room into the crowds around the other poles "Brownley has turned!" and taking renewed courage at the report, the bulls rallied their forces and began to bid for the different stocks, which a moment before it had seemed that no one wanted at any price. In a chip of a minute the whole scene changed; there was almost as wild a panic on the up side as there had been on the down.
Occasionally they would pass the Brownley carriage on the avenue or in the park and, taking it for granted that the beautiful woman was Mrs. Brownley, they thought Bob a lucky fellow. It seemed quite natural that his wife should choose seclusion after the awful tragedy at her home in Virginia.
Bob Brownley had thought himself in hard luck when his eyes opened to the fact that he had been robbed by means of dice loaded by man, but when Fate pressed the button he saw that his man-made hell was but a feeble imitation, and was satisfied, as whoever knows the game of life is satisfied, because he must be.
Yes, Jim, she has, and I have told her so, and I hope to God that that hard-headed horse-sense of yours will not make you sit down on it." Bob Brownley had got to his feet; he was slipping the shackles of that fiery, romantic, Southern passion that years in college and Wall Street had taught him to keep prisoner. His eyes were flashing sparks.
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