"We're in a corner; we're gone--hook, line, and sinker!" "What can we do ?" asked Mr.Harley, his face the hue of putty.
"Nothing!" said the old gray buccaneer, lighting a Spartan cigar.

"We're penned up; whoever has us cornered may now come round and knock us on the head whenever he finds it convenient." "The market is still weak," observed one, "for all it lived through the panic.

Suppose we creep in to-morrow and cover our shorts.

The shares are forty-three; I for one think it might be wise to close the deal and take our losses, even if we go as high as fifty." "For myself," remarked the old gray buccaneer, with a half-sneer at what he regarded as a most childish suggestion, "I'd be pleased to settle at sixty-five or even seventy." Then, turning to him who was for softly buying his way out: "Do you imagine that what has happened was accident?
I tell you there's a shark swimming in these waters--a shark so big that by comparison Port Royal Tom would seem like a dolphin.

And, gentlemen, that shark is after us.