The Rubber Exchange in Manhattan (Francis R. Henderson, President), is a quiet-looking place. The architecture is sort of Dutch, about as Dutch as the Stock Exchange is Greek: a burgomaster's mansion, not the temple of a relentless cult. The quiet winding stretches of South William Street have just enough of Amsterdam's canals to make the visiting Dutch rubber trader homesick. The dark-red bricks are so well woven together, the boxes of flowers on the window ledges are so neatly kept, the whole place is so clean—it is a bit of Holland low-country snuggling at the base of Manhattan peaks.
Last week rubber...