IX
THE STOCK EXCHANGE
One o'clock! The usual hour for the opening of the Exchange is rung out by the clock, the last vestige of the former, fire-gutted building, the diligent clock which, when the flames had devoured everything around it, and were pressing it most closely, persisted, like a faithful servant, in dying on the field of duty while giving the official time to the mercantile city.[1]
One o'clock! Hasten, laggards! Hurry and dispatch your lunch, take nothing but a mouthful, men of affairs and of money! Other combinations call you, players of dominoes! Finish sipping your coffee and gulping down fine brandy! Put aside the newspaper, concise though it may be, and printed for your benefit! Pay your checks and run, or beware the penalty!
One o'clock! They pour in from all parts of the city. The rich of today, the rich of tomorrow, and the rich of yesterday, struggling against disaster, fighting off ruin, millionaires who, having made hay while the sun shone, have well stored their nests, and other millionaires whose hay has flamed up like a rick of straw!
- ↑ The Antwerp Bourse burned down on the night of August 8, 1858.
200
