The appearance of this nimble-fingered young man with his piece of chalk always impressed Jack as a sort of vaudeville performance.

On ordinary days, with the market lifeless, but half of the orchestra seats would be occupied.

In whirl-times, with the ticker spelling ruin, not only were the chairs full, but standing room only was available in the offices.
Their occupants came from all classes; clerks from up-town dry-goods houses, who had run down during lunch time to see whether U.P.or Erie, or St.Paul had moved up an eighth, or down a quarter, since they had devoured the morning papers on their way to town; old speculators who had spent their lives waiting buzzard-like for some calamity, enabling them to swoop down and make off with what fragments they could pick up; well-dressed, well-fed club men, who had had a run of luck and who never carried less than a thousand shares to keep their hands in; gray-haired novices nervously rolling little wads of paper between their fingers and thumbs--up every few minutes to listen to the talk of the ticker, too anxious to wait until the sallow-faced young man with the piece of chalk could make his record on the board.

Some of them had gathered together their last dollar.

Two per cent.