eleven o'clock
It was the caldron filled with lies , false reports , fictitious sales , and the hope and lust of gain that boiled and bubbled , heated by the fires of hell . And ever around that caldron the souls of men were circling , cursing their losses and gloating over their gains . And Frye was muttering curses . At eleven o'clock wheat stood at seventy-five and one-half ; at eleven-thirty , seventy-four and seven-eighths ; at twelve , seventy-four . Frye arose , and going to a nearby room , all mirrors and plate-glass , called at the bar for brandy . Two full glasses he tossed off like so much water , and then returned to his watching . Wheat was seventy-three and three-quarters !