Oh, my good gracious! those foreign brutes are killing everybody.

Henry Hirsh is down now, and Prentice is cut in two--oh, Lord! and Huth, and there goes Lionel Cohen with his head off, and Guy Nickalls has lost his head now.

A dream?
I wish to goodness it was all a dream.' And, of course, instantly it was! The entire Stock Exchange rubbed its eyes and went back to close, to over, and either side of seven-eights, and Trunks, and Kaffirs, and Steel Common, and Contangoes, and Backwardations, Double Options, and all the interesting subjects concerning which they talk in the Street without ceasing.
No one said a word about it to anyone else.

I think I have explained before that business men do not like it to be known that they have been dreaming in business hours.

Especially mad dreams including such dreadful things as hungry people getting dinners, and the destruction of the Stock Exchange.
The children were in the dining-room at 300, Fitzroy Street, pale and trembling.