brokers or clerks to discover all that was going on, and to 
take advantage of any given rise or fall, made for quick 
physical action, darting to and fro, the excited elevation 
of explanatory fingers. Distorted faces were shoved over 
shoulders or under arms. Grimaces the most ridiculous 
were purposely or unconsciously indulged in. At times 
there were situations in which some individual was fairly 
smothered with arms, faces, shoulders, crowded toward 
him when he manifested any intention of either buying 
or selling at a profitable rate. At first it seemed quite a 
wonderful thing to young Cowperwood—the very physical 
face of the thing—for he liked human presence and ac- 
tivity; but a little later the sense of the thing as a pic- 
ture or a dramatic situation, of which he was a part, 
faded, and he came down to a clearer sense of the in- 
tricacies of the problem before him. Buying and selling 
stocks, as he soon learned, was an art, a subtlety, almost 
a psychic emotion. Suspicion, intention, feeling—these 
were the things to be "long" on. You had to know what 
a certain man was thinking of—why, you could not say— 
and suspect that he was going to buy or unload a given 
amount—why, you could not say. If you had a big buy- 
ing or a big selling order, it was vitally important that 
your emotions, feeling, or subtlest thought should, by no 
trick of thought transference, telepathy, facial expression, 
or unguarded mood on your part be conveyed to any other 
person. Some men, Rivers informed him, were psychic— 
clairvoyant was the word in use then. They could tell- 
" how, God bless me," he exclaimed, " I don't know." 
"Keep away from Targool over there. He's particu- 
larly good at that. When you see him hanging around 
you, avoid him." 
Cowperwood studied the man curiously. He had no 
fear that any one would get away any of his subtle thought 
from him; but this small, thin, gray-headed broker— 
say forty-five years of age—with smooth red cheeks, 
keen gray eyes, gray eyebrows, gray mustache, and the