"Why should you, if they don't care about you? Know how they do about that on the Board of Trade?"
"No, sir."
"They don't care what happens to the other fellow. I've known of many a man sitting in his office—broke; don't know how to pay his rent; don't know how to feed his wife and kids; thinks he'll kill himself. On the Floor they throw up their hats; slap each other on the back; all join hands and dance around because they've broke him. Understand?"
"No, sir," said Peewee.
"Understand about the boys, though, don't you?"
"Yes, sir."
Who was the old man? He looked, Peewee thought, as though he too might be a "builder of Chicago." He had at least built this house, or someone had built it for him. It occurred to Peewee that he might be the first of the Jeffrey Markyns, the one who had no number to his name. His age made this appear likely, and his talk about the Board of Trade.
