Friday, the Thirteenth - Tapa blanda

"Friday, the 13th; I thought as much. If Bob has started, there will be hell, but I will see what I can do." The sound of my voice, as I dropped the receiver, seemed to part the mists of five years and usher me into the world of Then as though it had never passed on. I had been sitting in my office, letting the tape slide through my fingers while its every yard spelled "panic" in a constantly rising voice, when they told me that Brownley on the floor of the Exchange wanted me at the 'phone, and "quick." Brownley was our junior partner and floor man. He talked with a rush. Stock Exchange floor men in panics never let their speech hobble. "Mr. Randolph, it's sizzling over here, and it's getting hotter every second. It's Bob--that is evident to all. If he keeps up this pace for twenty minutes longer, the sulphur will overflow 'the Street' and get into the banks and into the country, and no man can tell how much territory will be burned over by to-morrow. The boys have begged me to ask you to throw yourself into the breach and stay him. They agree you are the only hope now." "Are you sure, Fred, that this is Bob's work?" I asked. "Have you seen him?" "Yes, I have just come from his office, and glad I was to get out. He's on the war-path, Mr. Randolph--uglier than I ever saw him.