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Tamkin placed himself on Wilhelm's left and covered his conspicuous
bald head. "The guy'll ask me about the margin," he muttered. They
passed, however, unobserved.
"Look, the lard has held its place," he said.
Tamkin's eyes must be very sharp to read the figures over so many
heads and at this distance-another respect in which he was unusual.
The room was always crowded. Everyone talked. Only at the
front could you hear the flutter of the wheels within the board. Tele–
typed news items crossed the illuminated screen above.
"Lard. Now what about rye?" said Tamkin, rising on his toes.
Here he was a different man, active and impatient. He parted people
who stood in his way. His face turned resolute, and on either side of
his mouth odd bulges formed under his mustache. Already he was
pointing out to Wilhelm the appearance of a new pattern on the board.
"There's something up today," he said.
"Then why'd you take so long with breakfast?" said Wilhelm.
There wcre no reserved seats in the room, only customary ones.
Tamkin always sat in the second row, on the commodities side of the
aisle. Some of his acquaintances kept their hats on the chairs for him.
"Thanks. Thanks," said Tamkin, and he told Wilhelm, "I fixed
it up yesterday."
"That was a smart thought," said Wilhelm. They sat down .
With folded hands, by the wall, sat an old Chinese businessman
in a seersucker coat. Smooth and fat, he wore a white Vandyke. One
day Wilhelm had seen him on Riverside Drive pushing two little girls
along in a baby carriage-his grandchildren. Then there were two
women in their fifties, supposed to be sisters, shrewd and able money–
makers, according to Tamkin. They had never a word to say to Wilhelm.
But they would chat with Tamkin. Tamkin talked to everyone.
Wilhelm sat between Mr. Rowland, who was elderly, and Mr.
Rappaport, who was very old. Yesterday Rowland had told him that
in the year 1908, when he was a junior at Harvard, his mother had
given him twenty shares of steel for his birthday, and then he had
started to read the financial news and had never practiced law but
instead followed the market for the rest of his life. Now he speculated
only
in
soybeans, of which he had made a specialty. By his conservative
method, said Tamkin, he cleared two hundred a week. Small potatoes,
but then he was a bachelor, retired, and didn't need money.
"Without dependents," said Tamkin. "He doesn't have the prob–
lems that you and I do."
Did Tamkin have dependents? He had everything that it was
possible for a man to have-science, Greek, chemistry, poetry, and now
dependents, too. That beautiful girl with epilepsy, perhaps. He often
said that she was a pure, marvelous, spiritual child who had no knowl–
edge of the world. He protected her, and, if he was not lying, adored
her. And if you encouraged Tamkin by believing him, or even
if
you
refrained from questioning him, his hints became more daring. Some–
times he said that he paid for her music lessons. Sometimes he seemed
