And at this moment, as Landry stood on the rim of the wheat pit, looking towards the telephone booth under the visitors’ gallery, he saw the osseous, stoop-shouldered figure of Mr. Cressler⁠—who, though he never speculated, appeared regularly upon the Board every morning⁠—making his way towards one of the windows in the front of the building. His pocket was full of wheat, taken from a bag on one of the sample tables. Opening the window, he scattered the grain upon the sill, and stood for a long moment absorbed and interested in the dazzling flutter of the wings of innumerable pigeons who came to settle upon the ledge, pecking the grain with little, nervous, fastidious taps of their yellow beaks.