All in a moment the entire Floor seemed to be talking of nothing
else, and on the outskirts of every group one could overhear the
words: "Seizure of custom house," "ultimatum," "Eastern question,"
"Higgins-Pasha incident." It was the rumour of the day, and before
very long the pit traders began to receive a multitude of despatches
countermanding selling orders, and directing them not to close out
trades under certain very advanced quotations. The brokers began
wiring their principals that the market promised to open strong and
bullish.

But by now it was near to half-past nine. From the Western Union
desks the clicking of the throng of instruments rose into the air in
an incessant staccato stridulation. The messenger boys ran back and
forth at top speed, dodging in and out among the knots of clerks and
traders, colliding with one another, and without interruption
intoning the names of those for whom they had despatches. The throng
of traders concentrated upon the pits, and at every moment the
deep-toned hum of the murmur of many voices swelled like the rising
of a tide.

And at this moment, as Landry stood on the rim of the wheat pit,
looking towards the telephone booth under the visitors' gallery, he
saw the osseous, stoop-shouldered figure of Mr. Cressler--who,
though he never speculated, appeared regularly upon the Board every
morning--making his way towards one of the windows in the front of
the building. His pocket was full of wheat, taken from a bag on one
of the sample tables. Opening the window, he scattered the grain
upon the sill, and stood for a long moment absorbed and interested
in the dazzling flutter of the wings of innumerable pigeons who came
to settle upon the ledge, pecking the grain with little, nervous,