He's been after us from the beginning; he's got between us and the shore, and he'll pull us under when the spirit moves him.

If you think differently, go into the market to-morrow and try to buy Northern Consolidated.

An attempt to buy five hundred shares will put it up ten points." The next day, Saturday, the pool sent quietly into the Exchange to buy one thousand shares; that, by way of feeler.

The old gray buccaneer was right; Northern Consolidated climbed fifteen points with the vivacity of a squirrel, and rested mockingly at fifty-eight.

Following this disheartening experiment, which resulted in nothing more hopeful than a demand for further margins from the pool's brokers, there were no more efforts to "buy." The pool was marked for death; but that, while discouraging, offered no argument in favor of self-destruction.
When the markets opened upon that storm-swept Wednesday, there were forty brokers on the floor of the Exchange to execute the orders of Mr.
Bayard.