Chapter 2

Mr. Pitcher, she said to the confidential clerk, did Mr. Maxwell say anything yesterday about engaging another stenographer.

He did, answered Pitcher. He told me to get another one. I notified the agency yesterday afternoon to send over a few samples this morning. It's 9.45 o'clock, and not a single picture hat or piece of pineapple chewing gum has showed up yet.

I will do the work as usual, then, said the young lady, until some one comes to fill the place. And she went to her desk at once and hung the black turban hat with the gold-green macaw wing in its accustomed place.

He who has been denied the spectacle of a busy Manhattan broker during a rush of business is handicapped for the profession of anthropology. The poet sings of the crowded hour of glorious life. The broker's hour is not only crowded, but the minutes and seconds are hanging to all the straps and packing both front and rear platforms.

And this day was Harvey Maxwell's busy day. The ticker began to reel out jerkily its fitful coils of tape, the desk telephone had a chronic attack of buzzing. Men began to throng into the office and call at him over the railing, jovially, sharply, viciously, excitedly. Messenger boys ran in and out with messages and telegrams. The clerks in the office jumped about like sailors during a storm. Even Pitcher's face relaxed into something resembling animation.

　　“皮彻先生，”她问机要秘书，“马克斯韦尔先生昨天提没提过另外雇一名速记员的事？”

　　“提过，”皮彻说。“他吩咐我另外找一个。昨天下午我已通知职业介绍所，让他们今天上午送几个来面试。现在已经九点四十五了，可还没有哪个戴阔边帽或嚼波萝口香糖的人露面哩。”

　　“那我还是照常工作好啦，”年轻女郎说，“等有人替补再说。”说完她马上走到自己的办公桌边，在老地方挂起那顶插有金刚鹦鹉毛的黑色无边帽。

　　谁无缘目睹曼哈顿经纪人在生意高峰时刻那股紧张劲儿，谁搞人类学研究就有极大缺陷。有诗人赞颂“绚丽生活中的拥挤时辰”。证券经纪人不仅时辰拥挤，他的分分秒秒都是挤得满满当当的，像是前后站台都挤满乘客的车厢里的拉手吊带，每根都被拉得紧绷绷的。

　　今天又正是哈维·马克斯韦尔的大忙天。行情收录器的滚轴开始瑟瑟卷动，忽停忽动地吐出卷纸，桌上的电话像害了慢性病似的响个不停。人们开始涌入办公室，隔着扶手栏杆朝他大喊大叫，有的欣喜若狂，有的横眉竖眼，有的恶意满怀，有的激动不已。信童拿着信件和电报跑进跑出。办公室的职员们忙得跳来跳去，就像与风暴搏斗的水手。连皮彻的脸也舒张开来，显得生机勃勃。