The market moved.
The angular Big Board in the center of the hall flashed and twinkled—fast, then slow, then dead slow. It locked. The lights stopped. The pari-mutuel computers began to hum.
Mundin leveled his field glasses on 145, but it was hard to stay on it. His hands were trembling.
The gong rang, and the line he was watching flashed: 145, np 3.
The great hall trembled with noise, of which Mundin’s obscene monosyllable was only the twenty-thousandth part. A lousy six cents profit, he groaned. Not worth taking to the cashier’s window.
A passing broker, a grimy Member’s button hi his lapel, said intimately: “Hey, bud—watch metals.”
“Beat it or I’ll have you run in,” Mundin snapped. He had no time to waste on phony touts. He swept his field glasses over the Big Board, trying to make some sense out of the first movement of the day.
Industrials were down an average of four, the helpful summary told him. “Rails”—meaning, mostly, factory-site land developments—were up three. Chemicals, up eight.
Mundin figured. That meant that the investors would lay off chemicals because they would figure everybody would be
TSrTHefhicals because of the rise—except for the investors who would be on chemicals because~tEey would figure everybody would lay off chemicals because they’d figure everybody would be on chemicals. Because of the rise.
Thirty-second warning bell!
“Bud,” said the broker insistently, “watch metals?’
“Go to hell,” Charles said hoarsely, his fingers shaking over the buttons. He punched Anaconda again, bought five tickets, cursed himself and waited.
When he heard the great groan at last he opened his eyes and swept the board with his glasses. 145, up 15
“Remember who told ya,” the broker was saying.
Mundin gave him a dollar. He would, after all, need a pair of hands. . . . “Thanks, bud,” the broker said. “You’re doing a smart thing. Look, don’t switch. Not yet. I’ll tell ya when. This is a morning crowd—Tuesday morning at that Not a crazy hysterical Monday-morning crowd that gets in fast and gets cleaned out fast. Look around and see for yaself. Little fellows taking a day off. The family men that play it smart—they, think. Smart and small.. I been watching them for twenny years. Don’t switch.” *
Charles didn’t switch.
He kept feeding a dribble of dollars to the broker, who was either lucky or a genius that day. By noon Charles had a well-diversified portfolio of metals with a cash-in value of four hundred and eighty dollars.
“Now,” the broker said hoarsely. He had borrowed Charles’s field glasses to scan the crowd. “See?” Some of them’s leaving. Some of them breaking out sannicb.es. The handle’s dropping. They’re getting not-so-smart now, not-so-small. I been watching them twenny years. Now they start doing the stupid, obvious things, because they’re gettin’ hungry and a hungry man ain’t smart. I feel it, mister, the way I never felt it before. Sell twenny points short. Jeez, I wish I had the nerve to say thirty!”
Two minutes later he was pounding Charles on the back and yelling, “We did it, bud! We made it!. We made it!”
Metals had broken—thirty-eight points*:Charles, by now icy-calm, gave him five dollars. Step One in Ryan’s instructions; build up a stake. He’d done it.
He turned the dial to the five-hundred-dollar range. “Give me a winner,” he told the tout.
The broker gasped and stuttered.
“I’ve got to,” Charles said. “This is taking too long. I’m in a hurry.”
The broker stammered: “Solid fuels ought to rise now—but —but—please, bud, make it two-fifty. One on solid fuels and one on—on——” He swept the board with his glasses. “Can’s been sleepin’ all day,” he muttered. “A Tuesday crowd stays off Can, but after metals break——”
He said slowly, “Buy solid fuels and .Can.”
By two in the afternoon Charles had a cash-in value of $2,300 and the broker’s pockets were bulging with small change. He was talking to himself hi an undertone.
Charles said abruptly, “Okay. Now I want a share of G.M.L.”
The broker blinked at him. “Old 333? No, you can’t do that.”
“Yes I can. I want it.”
The broker shook his head. He said reasonably, “Bud, you don’t understand. You’re new here; I been around for twenny years. They have an investor, see? All day long he just punches 333.1 know- him well. That’s him over there, third tier, second aisle. Like Steel and A&P—they don’t take no chances on anybody claimin’ no stock.”