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Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips), 1866-1946

"The Governors"

..!"
Weiss' offices were crowded when Littleson returned. There was
excitement upon 'Change, clerks were rushing about, telephones were
ringing. Weiss himself, with his coat off, stood in the midst of it all,
giving orders, answering the telephone, exchanging a few hurried words
with numberless callers. He had a big unlit cigar in his mouth, which he
was constantly chewing. He pushed Littleson into his private office, but
he did not follow him for some time. When at last he came in, the uproar
outside was declining. It was five o'clock, and business was over for
the day. Weiss went to a small cupboard and took out a whisky bottle and
some glasses. Before he spoke a word he had tossed off a drink.
"Big day?" Littleson asked, mechanically.
"The devil's own day!" Weiss groaned. "We are in it now thick, all of
us, you and I, Higgins and Bardsley. Do you know that every minute of
the time Phineas Duge was supposed to be lying on his back, he was
buying on the Chicago market?"
"I am not surprised," Littleson answered. "It seems to me we ought to be
able to hold our own, though."
"We may," Weiss answered, "but it's a big thing. Even if we come out
safe, we shall come out losers.


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