It had been a busy day at the Star. We had gone to work
that morning expecting to see the very financial heavens fall.
But just about five minutes to ten, before the Stock Exchange
opened, the news came in over the wire from our financial man on
Broad Street: "'The System' has forced James Bruce, partner of
Kerr Parker, the dead banker; to sell his railroad, steamship,
and rubber holdings to it. On this condition it promises
unlimited support to the market."
"Forced!" muttered the managing editor, as he waited on the
office phone to get the composing-room, so as to hurry up the few
lines in red ink on the first page and beat our rivals on the
streets with the first extras. "Why, he's been working to bring
that about for the past two weeks. What that System doesn't
control isn't worth having--it edits the news before our men get
it, and as for grist for the divorce courts, and tragedies,
well--Hello, Jenkins, yes, a special extra. Change the big
heads--copy is on the way up--rush it."
"So you think this Parker case is a mess?" I asked.
"I know it. That's a pretty swift bunch of females that have been
speculating at Kerr Parker & Co.'s. I understand there's one
Titian-haired young lady--who, by the way, has at least one
husband who hasn't yet been divorced--who is a sort of
ringleader, though she rarely goes personally to her brokers'
offices.
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