THE WOMAN AND HER BONDS

Next chapter of Wall Street Stories



IT seemed to Fullerton F. Colwell, of the famous Stock-Exchange house of Wilson & Graves, that he had done his full duty by his friend Harry Hunt. He was a director in a half score of companies financial debutantes which his firm had " brought out " and over whose stock-market destinies he presided. His partners left a great deal to him, and even the clerks in the office ungrudgingly acknowledged that Mr. Colwell was " the hardest worked man in the place, barring none " an admission that means much to those who know it is always the downtrodden clerks who do all the work and their employers who take all the profit and credit. Possibly the important young men who did all the work in Wilson & Graves office bore witness to Mr. Colwell s industry so cheerfully, because Mr. Colwell was ever inquiring, very courteously, and, above all, sympathetically, into the amount of work each man had to perform, and suggesting, the next moment, that the laborious amount in question was indisputably excessive. Also, it was he who raised salaries ; wherefore he was the most charming as well as the busiest man there. Of his partners, John G. Wilson was a consumptive, forever going from one health resort to another, devoting his millions to the purchase of railroad tickets in the hope of out-racing Death. George B. Graves was a dyspeptic, nervous, irritable, and, to boot, penurious ; a man whose chief recommendation at the time Wilson formed the firm had been his cheerful willingness to do all the dirty work. Frederick R. Denton was busy in the " Board Room " the Stock Exchange all day, executing orders, keeping watch over the market behavior of the stocks with which the firm was identified, and from time to time hearing things not meant for his ears, being the truth regarding Wilson & Graves. But Fullerton F. Colwell had to do everything in the stock market and in the office. He conducted the manipulation of the Wilson & Graves stocks, took charge of the unefarious part of the numerous pools formed by the firnVs customers Mr. Graves attending to the other details and had a hand in the actual management of various corporations. Also, he conferred with a dozen people daily chiefly " big people,"" in Wall Street parlance who were about to "put through"" stock-market "deals." He had devoted his time, which was worth thousands, and his brain, which was worth millions, to disentangling his careless friencTs affairs, and when it was all over and every claim adjusted, and he had refused the executor s fees to which he was entitled, it was found that poor Harry Hunt s estate not only was free from debt, but consisted of $38,000 in cash, deposited in the Trolleyman's Trust Company, subject to Mrs. Hunt s order, and drawing interest at the rate of 2| per cent per annum. He had done his work wonderfully well, and, in addition to the cash, the widow owned an unencumbered house Harry had given her in his lifetime.

Not long after the settlement of the estate Mrs. Hunt called at his office. It was a very busy day. The bears were misbehaving and misbehaving mighty successfully. Alabama Coal & Iron the firm s great specialty was under heavy fire from " Sam " Sharpens Long Tom as well as from the room-traders 1 Maxims. All that Colwell could do was to instruct Denton, who was on the ground, to "support" Ala. C. fy /. sufficiently to discourage the enemy, and not enough to acquire the company s entire capital stock. He was himself at that moment practising that peculiar form of financial dissimulation which amounts to singing blithely at the top of your voice when your be loved sackful of gold has been ripped by bearpaws and the coins are pouring out through the rent. Every quotation was of importance ; a half inch of tape might contain an epic of disaster. It was not wise to fail to read every printed character.

" Good morning, Mr. Colwell."

He ceased to pass the tape through his fingers, and turned quickly, almost apprehensively, for a woman s voice was not heard with pleasure at an hour of the day when distractions were undesirable.

" Ah, good morning, Mrs. Hunt," he said, very politely. " I am very glad indeed to see you. And how do you do ? " He shook hands, and led her, a bit ceremoniously, to a huge armchair. His manners endeared him even to the big Wall Street operators, who were chiefly interested in the terse speech of the ticker.

" Of course, you are very well, Mrs. Hunt. Don t tell me you are not."

" Ye-es," hesitatingly. "As well as I can hope to be since since "

"Time alone, dear Mrs. Hunt, can help us. You must be very brave. It is what he would have liked."

" Yes, I know," she sighed. " I suppose I must."

There was a silence. He stood by, deferentially sympathetic.

" Ticky-ticky-ticky-tick^ said the ticker.

What did it mean, in figures ? Reduced to dollars and cents, what did the last three brassy taps say ? Perhaps the bears were storming the Alabama Coal & Iron intrenchments of " scaled buying orders " ; perhaps Col well s trusted lieutenant, Fred Denton, had repulsed the enemy. Who was winning ? A spasm, as of pain, passed over Mr. Fullerton F. ColwelTs grave face. But the next moment he said to her, slightly conscience-strickenly, as if he reproached himself for thinking of the stock market in her presence : " You must not permit yourself to brood, Mrs. Hunt. You know what I thought of Harry, and I need not tell you how glad I shall be to do what I may, for his sake, Mrs. Hunt, and for your own. "

"Ticky-ticky-ticky-tick.!"; repeated the ticker.

To avoid listening to the voluble little machine, he went on: "Believe me, Mrs. Hunt, I shall be only too glad to serve you. "

"You are so kind, Mr. Colwell," murmured the widow; and after a pause: "I came to see you about that money."

"Yes?"

" They tell me in the trust company that if I leave the money there without touching it I ll make $79 a month."

" Let me see; yes; that is about what you may expect."

"Well, Mr. Colwell, I can t live on that. Willie s school costs me $50, and then there's Edith s clothes," she went on, with an air which implied that as for herself she wouldn t care at all. " You see, he was so indulgent, and they are used to so much. Of course, it s a blessing we have the house; but taxes take up so much; and isn t there some way of investing the money so it could bring more?"

" I might buy some bonds for you. But for your principal to be absolutely safe at all times, you will have to invest in very high-grade securities, which will return to you about 3 1/2 per cent. That would mean, let s see, $110 a month."

"And Harry spent $10,000 a year," she murmured, complainingly.

" Harry was always - er rather extravagant."
" Well, I m glad he enjoyed himself while he lived," she said, quickly. Then, after a pause: "And, Mr. Colwell, if I should get tired of the bonds, could I always get my money back?"

" You could always find a ready market for them. You might sell them for a little more or
for a little less than you paid."

" I shouldn t like to sell them," she said, with a business air, "for less than I paid. What would
be the sense?"

" You are right, Mrs. Hunt," he said, encourag ingly. "It wouldn t be very profitable, would it?"

" Ticky-twlty-twky-twky-ticlcy-ticky-tick ! " said the ticker. It was whirring away at a furious
rate. Its story is always interesting when it is busy. And Colwell had not looked at the tape in fully five minutes!

" Couldn t you buy something for me, Mr. Colwell, that when I came to sell it I could get more than it cost me?"

" No man can guarantee that, Mrs. Hunt."

" I shouldn t like to lose the little I have," she said, hastily.

" Oh, there is no danger of that. If you will give me a check for $35,000, leaving $3,000 with the trust company for emergencies, I shall buy some bonds which I feel reasonably certain will advance in price within a few months."

" Ticky-ticky-ticky-tick? interrupted the ticker. In some inexplicable way it seemed to him that the brassy sound had an ominous ring, so he added: "But you will have to let me know promptly, Mrs. Hunt. The stock market, you see, is not a polite institution. It waits for none, not even for your sex."

" Gracious me, must I take the money out of the bank to-day and bring it to you?"

" A check will do." He began to drum on the desk nervously with his fingers, but ceased abruptly as he became aware of it.

" Very well, 111 send it to you to-day. I know you re very busy, so I won t keep you any longer. And you ll buy good, cheap bonds for me?"

" Yes, Mrs. Hunt."

"There s no danger of losing, is there, Mr. Colwell?"

"None whatever. I have bought some for Mrs. Colwell, and I would not run the slightest risk. You need have no fear about them."

"It s exceedingly kind of you, Mr. Colwell. I am more grateful than I can say. I- I"

" The way to please me is not to mention it, Mrs. Hunt. I am going to try to make some money for you, so that you can at least double the income from the trust company."

"Thanks, ever so much. Of course, I know you are thoroughly familiar with such things. But I ve heard so much about the money every body loses in Wall Street that I was half afraid."

" Not when you buy good bonds, Mrs. Hunt."

" Good morning, Mr. Colwell."

" Good morning, Mrs. Hunt. Remember, when ever I may be of service you are to let me know immediately."

" Oh, thank you, so much, Mr. Colwell. Good morning."

" Good morning, Mrs. Hunt."

Mrs. Hunt sent him a check for $35,000, and Colwell bought 100 five-per cent gold bonds of the Manhattan Electric Light, Heat & Power Company, paying 96 for them.

"These bonds," he wrote to her, "will surely advance in price, and when they touch a good figure I shall sell a part, and keep the balance for you as an investment. The operation is partly speculative, but I assure you the money is safe. You will have an opportunity to increase your original capital and your entire funds will then be invested in these same bonds Manhattan Electric 5s as many as the money will buy. I hope within six months to secure for you an income of twice as much as you have been receiving from the trust company."

The next morning she called at his office.

" Good morning, Mrs. Hunt. I trust you are well."
" Good morning, Mr. Colwell. I know I am an awful bother to you, but "

" You are greatly mistaken, Mrs. Hunt."

" You are very kind. You see, I don t exactly understand about those bonds. I thought you could tell me. I m so stupid," archly.

" I won t have you prevaricate about yourself, Mrs. Hunt. Now, you gave me $35,000, didn't you ? "

" Yes." Her tone indicated that she granted that much and nothing more.

" Well, I opened an account for you with our firm. You were credited with the amount. I then gave an order to buy one hundred bonds of $1,000 each. We paid 96 for them."

" I don t follow you quite, Mr. Colwell. I told you " another arch smile "I was so stupid ! "

"It means that for each $l,000-bond $960 was paid. It brought the total up to $96,000."

" But I only had $35,000 to begin with. You don t mean I ve made that much, do you ? "

" Not yet, Mrs. Hunt. You put in $35,000 ; that was your margin, you know ; and we put in the other $61,000 and kept the bonds as security. We owe you $35,000, and you owe us $61,000, and "

"But I know you ll laugh at me, Mr. Colwell but I really can t help thinking it s something like the poor people you read about, who mortgage their houses, and they go on, and the first thing you know some real-estate agent owns the house and you have nothing. I have a friend, Mrs. Stilwell, who lost hers that way," she finished, corroboratively.

" This is not a similar case, exactly. The reason why you use a margin is that you can do much more with the money that way than if you bought outright. It protects your broker against a depreciation in the security purchased, which is all he wants. In this case you theoretically owe us $61,000, but the bonds are in your name, and they are worth $96,000, so that if you want to pay us back, all you have to do is to order us to sell the bonds, return the money we have advanced, and keep the balance of your margin ; that is, of your original sum."

" I don t understand why I should owe the firm. I shouldn t mind so much owing you, because I know you d never take advantage of my ignorance of business matters. But I ve never met Mr. Wilson nor Mr. Graves. I don't even know how they look."

"But you know me," said Mr. Colwell, with patient courtesy. " Oh, it isn t that I'm afraid of being cheated, Mr. Colwell," she said hastily and reassuringly ; " but I don t wish to be under obligations to any one, particularly utter strangers ; though, of course, if you say it is all right, I am satisfied."

" My dear Mrs. Hunt, don t worry about this matter. We bought these bonds at 96. If the price should advance to 110, as I think it will, then you can sell three fifths for $66,000, pay us back $61,000, and keep $5,000 for emergencies in savings banks drawing 4 per cent interest, and have in addition 40 bonds which will pay you $2,000 a year."

" That would be lovely. And the bonds are now 96 ? "

" Yes ; you will always find the price in the financial page of the newspapers, where it says BONDS. Look for Man. Elec. 5s" and he showed her.

" Oh, thanks, ever so much. Of course, I am a great bother, I know -"

" You are nothing of the kind, Mrs. Hunt. I m only too glad to be of the slightest use to you."

Mr. Col well, busy with several important deals, did not follow closely the fluctuations in the price of Manhattan Electric Light, Heat & Power Company 5s. The fact that there had been any change at all was made clear to him by Mrs. Hunt. She called a few days after her first visit, with perturbation written large on her face. Also, she wore the semi-resolute look of a person who expects to hear unacceptable excuses.

" Good morning, Mr. Colwell."

" How do you do, Mrs. Hunt ? Well, I hope."

" Oh, I am well enough. I wish I could say as much for my financial matters." She had acquired the phrase from the financial reports which she had taken to reading religiously every day.

" Why, how is that ? "

" They are 95 now," she said, a trifle accusingly -

" Who are ihey^ pray, Mrs. Hunt ? " in surprise.

" The bonds. I saw it in last night s paper."

Mr. Colwell smiled. Mrs. Hunt almost became indignant at his levity.

" Don t let that worry you, Mrs. Hunt. The bonds are all right. The market is a trifle dull ;
that s all."

" A friend," she said, very slowly, " who knows all about Wall Street, told me last night that it made a difference of $1,000 to me."

" So it does, in a way ; that is, if you tried to sell your bonds. But as you are not going to do so until they show you a handsome profit, you need not worry. Don t be concerned about the matter, I beg of you. When the time comes for you to sell the bonds I ll let you know. Never mind if the price goes off a point or two. You are amply protected. Even if there should be a panic I ll see that you are not sold out, no matter how low the price goes. You are not to worry about it ; in fact, you are not to think about it at all."

" Oh, thanks, ever so much, Mr. Colwell. I didn't sleep a wink last night. But I knew "

A clerk came in with some stock certificates and stopped short. He wanted Mr. Colwell's signature in a hurry, and at the same time dared not interrupt. Mrs. Hunt thereupon rose and said : " Well, I won t take up any more of your time. Good morning, Mr. Colwell. Thanks ever so much."

"Don t mention it, Mrs. Hunt. Good morning. You are going to do very well with those bonds if you only have patience."

" Oh, I ll be patient now that I know all about it ; yes, indeed. And I hope your prophecy will be fulfilled. Good morning, Mr. Colwell."

Little by little the bonds continued to decline. The syndicate in charge was not ready to move them. But Mrs. Hunt s unnamed friend her Cousin Emily s husband who was employed in an up-town bank, did not know all the particulars
of that deal. He knew the Street in the abstract, and had accordingly implanted the seed of insomnia in her quaking soul. Then, as he saw values decline, he did his best to make the seed grow, fertilizing a naturally rich soil with ominous hints and head-shakings and with phrases that made her firmly believe he was gradually and considerately preparing her for the worst. On the third day of her agony Mrs. Hunt walked into Colwell s office. Her face was pale and she looked distressed. Mr. Colwell sighed involuntarily a scarcely perceptible and not very impolite sigh and said : " Good morning, Mrs. Hunt."

She nodded gravely and, with a little gasp, said, tremulously : " The bonds ! "

" Yes ? What about them ? "

She gasped again, and said : " The p-p-pa-pers ! "

" What do you mean, Mrs. Hunt ? "

She dropped into a chair nervelessly, as if exhausted. After a pause she said : " It s in all the papers. I thought the Herald might be mistaken, so I bought the Tribune and the Times and the Sun. But no. It was the same in all. It was," she added, tragically, 93 ! "

" Yes ? " he said, smilingly.

The smile did not reassure her ; it irritated her and aroused her suspicions. By him, of all men, should her insomnia be deemed no laughing matter.

"Doesn t that mean a loss of $3,000?" she asked. There was a deny-it-if-you-dare inflection in her voice of which she was not conscious. Her cousin's husband had been a careful gardener.

" No, because you are not going to sell your bonds at 93, but at 110, or thereabouts."

" But if I did want to sell the bonds now, wouldn t I lose $3,000 ? " she queried, challengingly. Then she hastened to answer herself:
" Of course I would, Mr. Colwell. Even I can tell that."

" You certainly would, Mrs. Hunt ; but "

" I knew I was right," with irrepressible triumph.

" But you are not going to sell the bonds."

" Of course, I don t want to, because I can't afford to lose any money, much less $3,000. But I don t see how I can help losing it. I was warned from the first," she said, as if that made it worse. " I certainly had no business to risk my all." She had waived the right to blame some one else, and there was something consciously just and judicial about her attitude that was eloquent. Mr. Colwell was moved by it.

" You can have your money back, Mrs. Hunt, if you wish it," he told her, quite unprofessionally.
" You seem to worry about it so much."

" Oh, I am not worrying, exactly ; only, I do wish I hadn t bought I mean, the money was so safe in the Trolleyman s Trust Company, that I can't help thinking I might just as well have let it stay where it was, even if it didn t bring me in so much. But, of course, if you want me to leave it here," she said, very slowly to give him every opportunity to contradict her, " of course, I ll do just as you say."

" My dear Mrs. Hunt," Colwell said, very politely, " my only desire is to please you and to help you. When you buy bonds you must be prepared to be patient. It may take months before you will be able to sell yours at a profit, and I don't know how low the price will go in the meantime. Nobody can tell you that, because nobody knows. But it need make no difference to you whether the bonds go to 90, or even to 85, which is unlikely."
" Why, how can you say so, Mr. Colwell ? If the bonds go to 90, I ll lose $6,000 my friend said it was one thousand for every number down. And at 85 that would be" counting on her fingers " eleven numbers, that is, eleven thou sand dollars!" And she gazed at him, awestrickenly, eproachfully. " How can you say it would make no difference, Mr. Colwell ? "

Mr. Colwell fiercely hated the unnamed "friend," who had told her so little and yet so much. But he said to her, mildly : " I thought that I had explained all that to you. It might hurt a weak speculator if the bonds declined ten points, though such a decline is utterly improbable. But it won't affect you in the slightest, since, having an ample margin, you would not be forced to sell. You would simply hold on until the price rose again. Let me illustrate. Supposing your house cost $10,000, and

" Harry paid $32,000," she said, correctingly. On second thought she smiled, in order to let him see that she knew her interpolation was irrelevant. But he might as well know the actual cost.

"Very well," he said, good-humoredly, "well say $32,000, which was also the price of every other house in that block. And suppose that, owing to some accident, or for any reason what
ever, nobody could be found to pay more than $25,000 for one of the houses, and three or four of your neighbors sold theirs at that price. But you wouldn t, because you knew that in the fall, when everybody came back to town, you would find plenty of people who d give you $50,000 for your house ; you wouldn t sell it for $25,000, and you wouldn t worry. Would you, now ? " he finished, cheerfully.

" No," she said slowly. " I wouldn t worry. But," hesitatingly, for, after all, she felt the awardness of her position, " I wish I had the money instead of the bonds." And she added, self-defen-sively : " I haven t slept a wink for three nights thinking about this."

The thought of his coming emancipation cheered Mr. Colwell immensely. " Your wish shall be gratified, Mrs. Hunt. Why didn t you ask me before, if you felt that way ? " he said, in mild reproach. And he summoned a clerk.

"Make out a check for $35,000 payable to Mrs. Rose Hunt, and transfer the 100 Manhattan Electric Light 5s to my personal account."

He gave her the check and told her : " Here is the money. I am very sorry that I unwittingly caused you some anxiety. But all s well that ends well. Any time that I can be of service to you Not at all. Don't thank me, please ; no. Good morning."

But he did not tell her that by taking over her account he paid $96,000 for bonds he could have bought in the open market for $93,000. He was the politest man in Wall Street ; and, after all, he had known Hunt for many years.

A week later Manhattan Electric 5 -per cent bonds sold at 96 again. Mrs. Hunt called on him. It was noon, and she evidently had spent the morning mustering up courage for the visit. They greeted one another, she embarrassed and he courteous and kindly as usual.

" Mr. Colwell, you still have those bonds, haven't you ? "

" Why, yes."

"I I think I d like to take them back."

" Certainly, Mrs. Hunt. I ll find out how much they are selling for." He summoned a clerk to get a quotation on Manhattan Electric 5s. The clerk telephoned to one of their bond-specialists, and learned that the bonds could be bought at 96 1 . He reported to Mr. Colwell, and Mr. Colwell told Mrs. Hunt, adding : " So you see they are practically where they were when you bought them before."

She hesitated. "I I didn t you buy them from me at 93 ? Fd like to buy them back at the same price I sold them to you."

" No, Mrs. Hunt,"" he said ; " I bought them from you at 96."

" But the price was 93." And she added, corroboratively : " Don t you remember it was in all the papers ? "

"Yes, but I gave you back exactly the same amount that I received from you, and I had the bonds transferred to my account. They stand on our books as having cost me 96."

"But couldn t you let me have them at 93?"
she persisted.

"I m very sorry, Mrs. Hunt, but I don t see how I could. If you buy them in the open market now, you will be in exactly the same position as before you sold them, and you will make a great deal of money, because they are going up now. Let me buy them for you at 96 1/2."

"At 93, you mean," with a tentative smile.

"At whatever price they may be selling for," he corrected, patiently.

"Why did you let me sell them, Mr. Colwell?" she asked, plaintively.

"But, my dear madam, if you buy them now, you will be no worse off than if you had kept the original lot."

"Well, I don t see why it is that I have to pay 96 1 now for the very same bonds I sold last Tues day at 93. If it was some other bonds," she added,
"I wouldn t mind so much."

"My dear Mrs. Hunt, it makes no difference which bonds you hold. They have all risen in price, yours and mine and everybody s; your lot was the same as any other lot. You see that, don t you?"

"Ye-es; but "

"Well, then, you are exactly where you were before you bought any. You ve lost nothing, because you received your money back intact."

"I m willing to buy them," she said resolutely, "at 93."

"Mrs. Hunt, I wish I could buy them for you at that price. But there are none for sale cheaper than 96 1/2."

"Oh, why did I let you sell my bonds !" she said, disconsolately.

"Well, you worried so much because they had declined that "

"Yes, but I didn t know anything about business matters. You know I didn t, Mr. Colwell," she finished, accusingly.

He smiled in his good-natured way. "Shall I buy the bonds for you?" he asked. He knew the plans of the syndicate in charge, and being sure the bonds would advance, he thought she might as well share in the profits. At heart he felt sorry for her.

She smiled back. "Yes," she told him, "at 93." It did not seem right to her, notwithstand ing his explanations, that she should pay 96 1/2 for them, when the price a few days ago was 93.

"But how can I, if they are 96 1/2 ?"

"Mr. Col well, it is 93 or nothing." She was almost pale at her own boldness. It really seemed to her as if the price had only been waiting for her to sell out in order to advance. And though she wanted the bonds, she did not feel like yielding.

"Then I very much fear it will have to be nothing."

"Er good morning, Mr. Colwell,"on the verge of tears.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hunt." And before he knew it, forgetting all that had gone before, he added: "Should you change your mind, I should be glad to "

"I know I wouldn t pay more than 93 if I lived to be a thousand years." She looked expectantly at him, to see if he had repented, and she smiled the smile that is a woman s last resort, that says, almost articulately: "I know you will, of course, do as I ask. My question is only a for mality. I know your nobility, and I fear not." But he only bowed her out, very politely.

On the Stock Exchange the price of Man. Elec. L.H.&P. Co. 5s rose steadily. Mrs. Hunt, too indignant to feel lachrymose, discussed the subject with her Cousin Emily and her husband. Emily was very much interested. Between her and Mrs. Hunt they forced the poor man to make strange admissions, and, deliberately ignoring his feeble protests, they worked themselves up to the point of believing that, while it would be merely generous of Mr. Colwell to let his friend s widow have the bonds at 93, it would be only his obvious duty to let her have them at 96 1/2- The moment they reached this decision Mrs. Hunt knew how to act. And the more she thought the more indignant she became. The next morning she called on her late husband s executor and friend.

Her face wore the look often seen on those ardent souls who think their sacred and inaliena ble rights have been trampled upon by the tyrant Man, but who at the same time feel certain the hour of retribution is near.

"Good morning, Mr. Colwell. I came to find out exactly what you propose to do about my
bonds." Her voice conveyed the impression that she expected violent opposition, perhaps even bad language, from him.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hunt. Why, what do you mean?"

His affected ignorance deepened the lines on her face. Instead of bluster he was using finesse!

"I think you ought to know, Mr. Colwell," she said, meaningly.

"Well, I really don t. I remember you wouldn't heed my advice when I told you not to sell out, and again when I advised you to buy them back."

"Yes, at 96 1/2," she burst out, indignantly.

"Well, if you had, you would to-day have a profit of over $7,000."

"And whose fault is it that I haven't?" She paused for a reply. Receiving none, she went on : "But never mind; I have decided to accept your offer," very bitterly, as if a poor widow could not afford to be a chooser; Til take those bonds at 96 1/2." And she added, under her breath: "Although it really ought to be 93."

"But, Mrs. Hunt," said Colwell, in measureless astonishment, "you can t do that, you know. You wouldn t buy them when I wanted you to, and I can t buy them for you now at 96 1/2. Really, you ought to see that."

Cousin Emily and she had gone over a dozen imaginary interviews with Mr. Colwell of varying degrees of storminess the night before, and they had, in an idle moment, and not because they really expected it, represented Mr. Colwell as taking that identical stand. Mrs. Hunt was, accordingly, prepared to show both that she knew her moral and technical rights, and that she was ready to resist any attempt to ignore them. So she said, in a voice so ferociously calm that it should have warned any guilty man : "Mr. Colwell, will you answer me one question?"

"A thousand, Mrs. Hunt, with pleasure."

"No; only one. Have you kept the bonds that I bought, or have you not?"

"What difference does that make, Mrs. Hunt?"

He evaded the answer!

"Yes or no, please. Have you, or have you not, those same identical bonds?"

"Yes; I have. But "

"And to whom do those bonds belong, by rights?" She was still pale, but resolute.

" To me, certainly."

" To you, Mr. Colwell?" She smiled. And in her smile were a thousand feelings ; but not mirth.
"Yes, Mrs. Hunt, to me."

"And do you propose to keep them?"

" I certainly do."

"Not even if I pay 96| will you give them to me?"

"Mrs. Hunt," Colwell said with warmth "when I took those bonds off your hands at 93 it represented a loss on paper of $3,000 "

She smiled in pity pity for his judgment in thinking her so hopelessly stupid.

"And when you wanted me to sell them back to you at 93 after they had risen to 96 1/2, if I had done as you wished, it would have meant an actual loss of $3,000 to me."

Again she smiled the same smile, only the pity was now mingled with rising indignation.

"For Harry s sake I was willing to pocket the first loss, in order that you might not worry. But I didn't see why I should make you a present of $3,000," he said, very quietly.

"I never asked you to do it," she retorted, hotly.

"If you had lost any money through my fault, it would have been different. But you had your original capital unimpaired. You had nothing to lose, if you bought back the same bonds at prac tically the same price. Now you come and ask me to sell you the bonds at 96 1/2 that are selling in the market for 104, as a reward, I suppose, for your refusal to take my advice. "

" Mr. Colvvell, you take advantage of my position to insult me. And Harry trusted you so much ! But let me tell you that I am not going to let you do just as you please. No doubt you would like to have me go home and forget how you ve acted toward me. But I am going to consult a lawyer, and see if I am to be treated this way by a friend of my husband s. You ve made a mistake, Mr. Colwell."

"Yes, madam, I certainly have. And, in order to avoid making any more, you will oblige me greatly by never again calling at this office. By all means consult a lawyer. Good morning, madam," said the politest man in Wall Street.

" We ll see," was all she said ; and she left the room.

Colwell paced up and down his office nervously.
It was seldom that he allowed himself to lose his temper, and he did not like it. The ticker whirred away excitedly, and in an absent-minded, half-disgusted way he glanced sideways at it.

"Man. Elec. 5s, 106 1/8," he read on the tape.

Next chapter of Wall Street Stories

THE BREAK IN TURPENTINE

Next chapter of Wall Street Stories


IN the beginning of the beginning the distillers of turpentine carried competition to the quarrelling point. Then they carried the quarrel to the point of silence, which was most to be feared, for it meant that no time was to be wasted in words. All were losing money ; but each hoped that the others were losing more, proportionately, and there fore would go under all the sooner. The survivors thought they could manage to keep on surviving, for on what twelve would starve four could feast.

It is seen periodically in the United States : an industry apparently suffering from suicidal mania. It is incomprehensible, inexplicable, though mediocrities mutter : " Over-production ! " and shake their heads complacently, proud of having diagnosed the trouble. Here was the turpentine business, once great and lucrative, now ruin-producing; formerly affording a comfortable livelihood to many thousands and now giving ever-diminishing wages to ever-diminishing numbers.

It was Mr. Alfred Neustadt, a banker in a famous turpentine district, who first called his brother-in-law s attention to the pitiable sight. Mr. Jacob Greenbaum s soul thrilled during Neustadfs recital. He perceived golden possibilities that dazzled him : He decided to form a Turpen tine Trust.

First he bought for a song all the bankrupt stills ; seven of them. Later on, in his scheme of trust creation, these self-same distilleries would be turned over to the "octopus," at nice fat figures, as Greenbaum put it, self -admiringly, to his brother-in-law. Then he secured options on nine others, the tired-unto-death plants. In this way he was able to control " a large productive capacity " at an expenditure positively marvellous it was so small. It was also in his brother-in-law's name. Then the banking house of Greenbaum, Lazarus & Co. stepped in, interested accomplices, duped or coerced into selling enough other distillers to assure success, cajoled the more stubborn, wheedled the more credulous, gave way gracefully to the shrewder and gathered them all into the fold. The American Turpentine Company was formed, with a capital stock of $30,000,000 or 300,000 shares at $100 each. The cash needed, to pay Mr. Greenbaum, Neustadt and others who sold their plants for " part cash and part stock," was provided by an issue of $25,000,000 of 6 percent bonds, underwritten by a syndicate composed of Green baum, Lazarus & Co., I. & S. Wechsler, Morris Steinfelder s Sons, Reis & Stern, Kohn, Fischel & Co., Silberman & Lindheim, Rosenthal, Shaffran & Co. and Zeman Bros.

They were men who never " speculated " ; some times they " conducted financial operations." They had shears, not fleeces.

The prospectus of the " Trust " was a masterpiece of persuasiveness and vagueness, of slim statistics and alluring generalities. In due course of time the public subscribed for the greater part of the $25,000,000 of bonds, and both bonds and stock were " listed " on the New York Stock Exchange that is, they were placed on the list of securities which members may buy or sell on the " floor " of the Exchange.

Tabularly expressed, the syndicate s operations were as follows :

Authorized stock ....................$30,000,000

" bonds ............................. 25,000,000
-----------
Total............................... $55,000,000

Actual worth of property .............12,800,000
-----------
AquaPura ............................$42,200,000

Paid to owners for 41 distilleries representing 90 per cent of the turpentine production (and 121 per cent of the consumption !) of the United
States :

Cash from bond sales.................. $8,975,983

Bonds.................................. 12,000,000

Stock.................................. 18,249,800
-----------

Total.................................. $39,225,783

Syndicate s commission, stock........... 12,988,500
Retained in Co. s treasury, unissued..... 2,000,000
Expenses and discounts on bonds, etc....... 785,717
-----------

Total................................... $55,000,000

These figures were not for publication. They told the exact truth.

The public knew nothing of the company's earning capacity, save a few tentative figures from the prospectus, which was a sort of financial gospel according to Greenbaum, but which did not create fanatical devotees among investors. The stock, unlike the Kipling ship, had not found it self. It was not market -proven, not seasoned ; no one knew how much dependence to put on it ; wherefore the banks would not take it as collateral security on loans and wherefore the " speculative community" (as the newspapers call the stock gamblers) would not touch it, since in a pinch it might prove utterly unvendible. It remained for the syndicate to make a " market " for it, to develop such a condition of affairs that anyone at any time could, without overmuch difficulty and without causing over-great fluctuations, sell readily American Turpentine Company stock. The syndicate would have to earn its commission.

All the manufacturers who had received stock in part payment were told most impressively by Mr. Greenbaum not to sell their holdings under any circumstances at any price below $75 a share. Not knowing Mr. Greenbaum, they readily and solemnly promised to obey him. They even permitted themselves to think, after talking to him, that they would some day receive $80 per share for all their holdings. This precluded any untimely " unloading " by the only people outside the syndicate that held any Turpentine stock at all.

Mr. Greenbaum took charge of the market conduct of " Turp," as the tape called the stock of the American Turpentine Company. At first, the price was marked up by means of " matched " or ders preconcerted and therefore not bona fide transactions. Mr. Greenbaum told one of his brokers to sell 1,000 shares of " Turp " to another of his brokers and shortly afterwards the second broker sold the same 1,000 shares to a third, by pre-arrangement this being the matching process with the result that the tape recorded transactions of 2,000 shares. After the " matching " had gone on for some time, readers of the tape were supposed to imagine that the stock was legitimately active and strong two facts which in turn were supposed to whet the buying appetite. It was against the rule of the Exchange to " match " orders, but how could convictions be secured ?

" Turp " began at 25 and as the syndicate had all the stock in the market, it was easily manipulated upward to 35. Every day, many thousands of shares, according to the Stock Exchange s official records, " changed hands " from Greenbaum s right to his left and back again and the price rose steadily. But something was absent. The manipulation was not convincing. It did not make the general public nibble. The only buy ers were the " room traders," that is, the professional stock gamblers who were members of the Exchange and speculated for themselves exclusively ; and those customers of the commission houses who, because they were bound to speculate daily or die and because they studied the ticker-ribbon so assiduously, were known by the generic name of " tape- worms."" These gentry, in and out of the Exchange, provided the tape in its curious language foretold a rise, would buy anything from capitalized impudence, as in the case of Back Bay Gas, whose property was actually worth niland its capital stock was $100,000,000, up to Government bonds.

Now, the room traders and the tape-worms reasoned not illogically that the "Greenbaum gang" had all the stock and that perforce the "gang" had to find a market for it; and the only way to do this was by a nice "bull" or upward movement. When a stock rises and rises and rises the newspapers are full of pleasant stories about it and the lambs read but do not run away; they buy on the assumption that, as the stock has already risen ten points it may rise ten more. This explains why they make so much money in Wall Street for the natives.

Greenbaum and his associates were exception ally shrewd business men, thoroughly familiar with Wall Street and its methods, cautious yet bold, far-seeing yet eminently of the day. They were practical financiers. They marked up the price of "Turp" ten points; but they could not arouse public interest in it so that people would buy it. Indeed, at the end of three weeks, during which the "Street" had been flooded with impressive advice, printed and spoken, to buy because the price was going higher, all they had for their trouble was more stock 6,000 shares from Ira D. Keep, a distiller, who sold out at 38 because he needed the money; and they also were obliged to buy back from the "room traders " at 35 and 36 and higher, the same stock the "gang" had sold at 30 and 31 and 32 and 34. Then the manipulators had to "support" the stock at the higher level, that is, they had to keep it from declining, which could be done only by continuous buying. By doing this the public might imagine there was considerable merit in a stock which was in such good demand from intelligent people as to remain firm, notwithstanding its previous substantial rise. And if somebody wanted "Turp" why shouldn t the public want it? The public generally asks itself that question. It is in the nature of a nibble and rejoices the hearts of the financial anglers.

Every attempt to sell "Turp" met with failure. At length it was decided to allow the price to sink back to an "invitingly low" level. It was done. But still the invited public refused to buy. Efforts to encourage a short interest to over-extend itself unto "squeezable" proportions failed similarly. The Street was afraid to go "short" of a stock which was so closely held. The philosophy of short selling is simple; it really amounts to betting that values will decline. A man who "sells short" sells what he does not possess, but hopes to buy, later on, at a lower price. But since he must deliver what he sells he borrows it from some one else, giving the lender ample security. To "cover"" or to "buy in"" is to purchase stock previously sold short. Obviously, it is unwise to be short of a stock which is held by such a few that it may be difficult to borrow it. To "squeeze" shorts is to advance the price in order to force " covering. 1 This is done when the short interest is large enough to make it worth while.

In the course of the next few months, after a series of injudicious fluctuations which gave to "Turp" a bad name, even as Wall Street names went, despite glowing accounts of the company's wonderful business and after distributing less than 35,000 shares, the members of the "Turpentine Skindicate," as it was popularly called, sorrowfully acknowledged that, while they had skilfully organized the trust and had done fairly well with the bonds, they certainly were not howling successes as manipulators. During the following eight months they sold more stock. They spared not the widow nor the orphan. They even "stuck" their intimate friends. They had sold for something what had cost them nothing; it was natural to wish to sell more.

Now, manipulators of stocks are born, not made. The art is most difficult, for stocks should be manipulated in such wise that they will not look manipulated. Anybody can buy stocks or can sell them. But not every one can sell stocks and at the same time convey the impression that he is buying them, and that prices therefore must inevitably go much higher. It requires boldness and consummate judgment, knowledge of technical stock-market conditions, infinite ingenuity and mental agility, absolute familiarity with human nature, a careful study of the curious psychological phenomena of gambling and long experience with the Wall Street public and with the wonderful imagination of the American people; to say nothing of knowing thoroughly the various brokers to be employed, their capabilities, limitations and personal temperaments; also, their price.

Adequate manipulative machinery, moreover, can be perfected only with much toil and patience and money. Professional Wall Street will always tell you that "the tape tells the story." The little paper ribbon, therefore, must be made to tell such stories as the manipulator desires should be told to the public; he must produce certain effects which should preserve an appearance of alluring spontaneity and, above all, of legitimacy and candor; he must be a great artist in men dacity and at the same time have the superb selfconfidence of a grizzly.

Several members of the syndicate had many of these qualities, but none had them all. It was decided to put "Turp" stock in the hands of Samuel Wimbleton Sharpe, the best manipulator Wall Street had ever known. "Jakey" Greenbaum said he would conduct the negotiations with the great plunger.

Sharpe was a financial free-lance, free-booter and free-thinker. He had made his first fortune in the mining camps of Arizona and finding that field too narrow had come to New York, where he could gamble to his heart s content. He was all the things that an ideal manipulator should be and several more. He had arrived in New York with a sneer on his lips and a loaded revolver in his financial hands. The other "big operators" looked at him in pained astonishment. "I carry my weapons openly," Sharpe told them, "and you conceal your dirks. Don t hurt yourselves trying to look honest. I never turn my back on such as you." Of this encounter was born a hostility that never grew faint. Sharpe had nothing of his own to unload on anyone else, no property to overcapitalize and sell to an undiscriminating public by means of artistic lies and his enemies often did. So they called him a gambler, very bitterly, and he called them philanthropists, very cheerfully. If he thought a stock was unduly high he sold it confidently, aggressively, stupendously. If he thought a stock was too low he bought it boldly, ready to take all the offerings and bid for more. And once on the march, he might be temporarily checked, be forced by the enemy to halt for a day or a week or a month; but inevitably he arrived. And such an arrival ! And as a manipulator of stock-values he had no equal. On the bull side he rushed a stock up ward so steadily, so boldly and brilliantly, but, above all, so persuasively, that lesser gamblers almost fought to be allowed to take it off his hands at incredibly high prices. And when in the conduct of one of his masterly bear campaigns he saw fit to " hammer " the market, values melted away as by magic Satanic magic, the poor lambs thought. All stocks looked " sick," looked as though prices would go much lower ; murmurs of worse things to come were in the air, vague, disquieting, ruin-breeding. The atmosphere of the Street was supersaturated with apprehension, and the black shadow of Panic brooded over the Stock Exchange, chilling the little gamblers 1 hearts, wiping out the last of the little gamblers " margins. And even the presidents of the solid, conservative banks studied the ticker uneasily in their offices.

Greenbaum was promptly admitted to Sharped private office. It was a half-darkened room, the windows having wire-screens, summer and winter, in order that prying eyes across the street might not see his visitors or his confidential brokers, whose identity it was advisable should remain unknown to the Street. He was walking up and down the room, pausing from time to time to look at the tape. The ticker is the only telescope the stockmarket general has ; it tells him what his forces are doing and how the enemy is meeting his at tacks. Every inch of the tape is so much ground ;every quotation represents so many shots.

There was something feline in Sharpens stealthy, soundless steps, in his mustaches, in the conformation of his face broad of forehead and triangulating chinward. In his eyes, too, there was something tigerish unmelodramatically cold hearted and coldly curious as they looked upon Mr. Jacob Greenbaum. Unconsciously the unfanciful Trust-maker asked himself whether Sharpens heart-beats were not ticker ticks, impassively indicating the pulse of the stock-market.

" Hallo, Greenbaum."

" How do you do, Mr. Sharpe ? " quoth the millionaire senior partner of the firm of Greenbaum, Lazarus & Co. " I hope you are well ? " He bent his head to one side, his eyes full of a caressing scrutiny, as though to ascertain the exact condition of Sharpens health. " Yes, you must be. I haven t seen you look so fine in a long time."

" You didn t come up here just to tell me this, Greenbaum, did you ? How s your Turpentine ? Oh ! " with a long whistle "I see. You want me to go into it, hey ? " And he laughed a sort of half-chuckle, half-snarl.

Greenbaum looked at him admiringly ; then, with a tentative smile, he said : " I am discovered ! "

Nearly every American may be met as an equal on the field of Humor. To jest in business matters of the greatest importance bespoke the national trait. Moreover, if Sharpe declined, Green baum could treat the entire affair the proposal and the rejection as parts of a joke.

" Well ? " said Sharpe, unhumorously.

" What s the matter with a pool ? "

" How big ? " coldly.

"Up to the limit." Again the Trust-maker smiled, uncertainly.

" You haven t all the capital stock, I hope."

"Well, call it 100,000 shares," said Greenbaum, more uncertainly and less jovially.

" Who is to be in it besides you ? "

" Oh, you know ; the same old crowd."

" Oh, I know," mimicked Mr. Sharpe, scornfully, " the same old crowd. You ought to have come to me before ; it will take something to overcome your own reputations. How much will each take ? "

" Well fix that O. K. if you take hold," an swered Greenbaum, laughingly. " We ve got over 100,000 shares and we d rather some one else held some of it. We ain t hogs. Ha ! Ha ! "

" But, the distillers ? "

" They are in the pool. I ve got most of their stock in my office. I ll see that it does not come out until I say so."

There was a pause. Between Sharpe s eye brows were two deep lines. At length, he said :

"Bring your friends here, this afternoon. Goodby, Greenbaum. And, I say, Greenbaum."

"Yes?"

" No funny tricks at any stage of the game."

" What s the use of saying such things, Mr. Sharpe ? " with an experimental frown.

" The use is so you won t try any. Come at four," and Mr. Sharpe began to pace up and down the room. Greenbaum hesitated, still frowning tentatively ; but he said nothing and at length went out.

Sharpe looked at the tape. "Turp" was 29 1/4.

He resumed his restless march back and forth. It was only when the market " went against him " that Mr. Sharpe did not pace about the room in the mechanical way of a menagerie animal, glancing everywhere but seeing nothing. When something unexpected happened in the market Sharpe stood immobile beside the ticker, because his over worked nerves were tense like a tiger into whose cage there enters a strange and eatable animal.

On the minute of four there called on Mr. Sharpe the senior partners of the firms of Green baum, Lazarus & Co., I. & S. Wechsler, Morris Stein fielder s Sons, Reis & Stern, Kohn, Fischel & Co., Silberman & Lindheim, Rosenthal, Shaffran & Co., and Zeman Bros.

They were ushered not into the private office, but into a sumptuously furnished room, the walls of which were covered with dashing oil paintings of horses and horse-races. The visitors seated themselves about a long oaken table.

Mr. Sharpe appeared at the threshold.

" How do you do, gentlemen ? Don t move, please ; don t move." He made no motion to shake hands with any of them, but Greenbaum came to him and held out his fat dexter resolutely and Sharpe took it. Then Greenbaum sat down and said, " We re here," and smiled, blandly.

Sharpe stood at the head of the polished, shining table, and glanced slowly down the double row of alert faces. His look rested a fraction of a minute on each man s eyes a sharp, "half-contemptuous, almost menacing look that made the older men uncomfortable and the younger resentful.

" Greenbaum tells me you wish to pool your Turpentine stock and have me market it for you."

All nodded; a few said "yes"; one Lindheim, aetat 27 said, flippantly, "That's what."

"Very well. What will each man's proportion be?"

"I have a list here, Sharpe," put in Greenbaum. He intentionally omitted the "Mr." for effect upon his colleagues. Sharpe noted it, but did not mind it.

Sharpe read aloud:

Greenbaum, Lazarus & Co..................... 38,000 shares.

I. & S. Wechsler............................ 14,000

Morris Steinfelder s Sons................... 14,000

Reis & Stern................................ 11,000

Kohn, Fischel & Co.......................... 10,000

Silberman & Lindheim......................... 9,000

Rosenthal, Shaffran & Co..................... 9,800

Zeman Bros................................... 8,600
---------------
Total...................................... 114,400 shares.

"Is that correct, gentlemen?" asked Sharpe.

Greenbaum nodded his head and smiled affably as befitted the holder of the biggest block. Some said "Yes"; others, "That is correct." Young Lindheim said, "That s what." The founders of the firm his uncle and his father were dead, and he had inherited the entire business from the two. His flippancy was not inherited from either.

"It is understood," said Sharpe, slowly, "that I am to have complete charge of the pool, and conduct operations as I see fit. I want no ad vice and no questions. If there is any asking to be done, I ll do it. If my way does not suit you we ll call the deal off right here, because it's the only way I have. I know my business, and if you know yours you ll keep your mouths shut in this office and out of it."
No one said a word, not even Lindheim.

" Each of you will continue to carry the stock for which he has agreed to stand in the pool. You ve had it a year and couldn t sell it, and you might keep it a few weeks more, until I sell it for you. It must be subject to my call at one minute s notice. I ve looked into the company's business, and I think the stock can easily sell at 75 or 80."

" Something like a gasp of astonishment came from those eight hardened speculators. Then Greenbaum smiled, knowingly, as if that were his programme, memorized and spoken by Sharpe.

"It is also understood," went on Sharpe, very calmly, "that none of you has any other stock for sale at any price, excepting his proportion in this pool, and that proportion, of course, is not to be sold excepting by me." No one said a word, and he continued:

"My profit will be 25 per cent of the pool's winnings, figuring on the stock having been put in at 29. The remaining profits will be divided pro rata among you; the necessary expenses will be shared similarly. I think that s all. And, gentlemen, no unloading on the sly not one share."

"I want you to understand, Mr. Sharpe, that we are not in the habit of " began Greenbaum with perfunctory dignity. He felt it was his duty to remonstrate before his colleagues.
"Oh, that s all right, Greenbaum. I know you. That s why I m particular. We ve all been in Wall Street more than a month or two. I simply said, No shenanigan. And, Greenbaum," he added, very distinctly, while his eyes took on that curious, cold, menacing look, "I mean it, every d - d word of it. I want the numbers of all your stock-certificates. Excuse me, gentlemen. I am very busy. Good-afternoon."

And that is how the famous bull pool in Turpentine came to be formed. They thought he might have been nicer, more diplomatic; but as they had sought him, not he them, they bore with his eccentricities. Each pool manager had his way, just as there are various kinds of pools.

"Sam is not half a bad fellow," Greenbaum told them, as if apologizing for a dear friend's weaknesses. " He wants to make out he is a devil of a cynic, but he s all right. If you humor him you can make him do anything. I always let him have his way."

On the very next day began the historical advance in Turpentine. It opened up at 30. The specialists brokers who made a specialty of dealing in it took 16,000 shares, causing an advance to 32. Everybody who had been "landed" with the shares at higher figures, and had bitterly regretted it ever since, now began to feel hopeful. As never before a stock had been manipulated, with intent to deceive and malice prepense, so did Sharpe manipulate Turpentine stock. The tape told the most wonderful stories in the world, not the less wonderful because utterly untrue. Thus, one day the leading commission houses in the Street were the buyers, which inevitably led to talk of "important developments "; and the next day brokers identified with certain prominent financiers took calmly, deliberately, nonchalantly, all the offerings; which clearly indicated that the aforementioned financiers had acquired a "controlling interest" - the majority of the stock of the American Turpentine Company. And on another day there was a long string of purchases of "odd" lots amounts less than 100 shares by brokers that usually did business for the Greenbaum syndicate, meaning that friends of the syndicate had received a "tip" straight from "the inside" and were buying for investment.

Then, one fine, sunshiny day, when everybody felt very well and the general market was particularly firm, the loquacious tape told the watchful professional gamblers of Wall Street oh, so plainly ! that there was "inside realizing"; said, almost articulately to them, that the people most familiar with the property were unloading. Sharpe was selling, with intentional clumsiness, stock he had been forced to accumulate during his bull manipulation for in order to advance the price he had to buy much and he was not averse to conveying such impressions as would lead to the creation of a short interest, large enough to make it profitable to "squeeze."" He had too much company on the bull side. And sure enough the professional gamblers said: "Aha! They are through with it. The movement is over!" and sold "Turp" short confidently, for a worthless stock had no business to be selling at $46 a share. The price yielded and they sold more the next day. But lo, on the day following, the Board member of a very conservative house went into the "Turp" crowd and bought it he did not "bid up" the price at all, but bought and bought until he had accumulated 20,000 shares, and the bears became panic-stricken, and rumors of a nearby dividend began to circulate, and the bears covered their shorts at a loss and "went long"
bought in the hope of a further rise and the stock closed at 52.

And Sharpe reduced very greatly the amount of " Turp " stock he had been obliged to take for manipulative purposes. So far he was buying more than he sold. Later he would sell more than he bought. When the demand exceeds the vendible supply, obviously the price rises ; when the supply for sale exceeds the demand, a fall results. But the average selling price of a big line may be high enough to make the operation profitable, even though a decline occurs during the course of the selling.

For a week " Turp " rested ; then it began to rise once more. At 56 and 58 it became the most active stock of the entire list. Everybody talked about it. The newspapers began to publish statements of the company s wonderful earnings, and the Street began to think that, in common with other " trusts," the American Turpentine Company must be a very prosperous concern. The company at this time developed a habit of advancing prices a fraction of a cent per gallon every week, so that the papers could talk of the boom in the turpentine trade.

At 60 the Street thought there really must be something behind the movement, for no mere manipulation could put up the price thirty points in a month s time, which shows what a wonderful artist Sharpe was. And people began to look curiously and admiringly and enviously and in many other ways at " Jakey " Greenbaum and his accomplices, and to accuse them of having in tentionally kept down the price of the stock for a year in order to " freeze out " the poor, unsophisticated stockholders, and to " tire out " some of the early buyers, because " Turp," being " a good thing," Greenbaum et al. wanted it all for themselves. And Greenbaum et al. smiled guiltily and said nothing, though Jakey winked from time to time when they spoke to him about it ; and old Isidore Wechsler cultivated a Napoleon III. look of devilish astuteness ; and " Bob " Lindheim became almost dignified ; and myopic little Morris Steinfelder gained 15 pounds and Rosenthal stopped patting everybody on the back, and mutely invited everybody to pat him on the back.

Then Sharpe sent for "Jakey," and on the next day young " Eddie " Lazarus swaggeringly offered to wager $10,000 against $5,000 that a dividend on " Turp " stock would be declared during the year. Whereupon the newspapers of their own accord began to guess how great a dividend would be paid, and when ; and various fig
ures were mentioned in the Board room by brokers who confided to their hearers that they " got it on the dead q. t., straight from the inside" And two days later Sharpens unsuspected brokers offered to pay If per cent for the dividend on 100,000 shares, said dividend to be declared within sixty days or the money forfeited. And the stock sold up to 66 f, and the public wanted it. A big, broad market had been established, in which one could buy or sell the stock with ease by the tens of thousands of shares. The 114,400 shares, which at the inception of the movement at the unsalable price of $30 a share represented a theoretical $3,432,000, now readily vendible at $65 a share, meant $7,422,000 ; not half bad for a few weeks work.

And still Sharpe, wonderful man that he was, gave no sign that he was about to begin unloading. Whereupon the other members of the pool began to wish he were not quite so greedy. They were satisfied to quit, they said. The presence of the pooFs stock in their offices began to irritate them. They knew the vicissitudes of life, the uncertainties of politics, and of the stock market. Supposing some crazy anarchist blew up the President of the United States, or the Emperor of Germany were to insult his grand mother, the market would " break " to pieces, and their $4,000,000 of paper profits would disappear. They implored, individually and collectively, Mr. Jacob Greenbaum to call on Sharpe ; and Greenbaum, disregarding a still, small voice that warned him against it, went to Sharpens office, and came out of it, two minutes later, somewhat flushed, and assured his colleagues one by one that Sharpe was all right, and that he seemed to know his business. Also, that he was cranky that day. He always was, added Greenbaum forgivingly, when one of his horses lost a race.

The stock fluctuated between 60 and 65. It seemed to be having a resting spell. But as it had enjoyed these periods of repose on three several occasions during the rise at 40 and 48 and 56 the public became all the more eager to buy it whenever it fell to 60 or 59, for the Street was now full of tips that " Turp " would go to par. And such was the public s speculative temper and Mr. Sharpens good work that disinterested observers were convinced the stock would surely sell above 90 at the very least. Mr. Sharpe still bought and sold, but he sold twice as much as he bought, and the big block he had been obliged to take in the course of his manipulation dimin ished. On the next day he hoped to begin selling the pool stock.

That very day Mr. Greenbaum, as he returned to his office from his luncheon, felt well pleased with the meal and therefore with himself and therefore with everything. He scanned a yard or two of the tape and smiled. " Turp " was certainly very active and very strong.

" In such a market," thought Mr. Greenbaum, " Sharpe can t possibly tell he s getting stock from me. In order to be on the safe side I'm going to let him have a couple of thousand. Then, should anything happen, I d be that much ahead. Ike ! " he called to a clerk.

" Yes, sir."

" Sell two wait ; make it 3,000 no, never mind. Send for Mr. Ed Lazarus." And he muttered to himself, with a subthrill of pleasure : " I can just as well as not make it 5,000 shares."
" Eddie," he said to his partner s son, " give an order to some of the room traders, say to Willie Schiff, to sell five er six tell him to sell 7,000 shares of Turpentine and to borrow the stock. I am not selling a share, see ? " with a wink. " It s short selling by him, do you understand ? " " Do I ? Well, I guess. I ll fix that part O. K. ," said young Lazarus, complacently. He thought he would cover Greenbaunv s tracks so well as to deceive everybody, including that highly disagreeable man, Samuel Wimbleton Sharpe. He felt so confident, so elated, did the young man, that when he gave the order to his friend and club-mate, Willie Schiff, he raised it to 10,000 shares. Greenbaum s breach of faith had grown from the relatively small lot of 2,000 shares to five times that amount. It was to all appearances short stock, and it was duly " borrowed " by young Schiff . It was advisable that it should so appear. In the first place no member of the pool could supply the stock which he held, because Sharpe could trace the selling to the office, as he had the numbers of the stock certificates. And, again, short selling does not have the weakening effect that long sell ing has. When stock is sold short it is evident that sooner or later the seller will have to buy it back ; that is, a future demand for the stock is assured from this source, if from no other. Whereas, long stock is that actually held by someone.

Isidore Wechsler, who held 14,000 shares, was suffering from a bad liver the same day that Greenbaum was suffering from nothing at all, not even a conscience. A famous art collection would be sold at auction that week, and he felt sure his vulgar friend, " Abe " Wolff, would buy a couple of exceptionally fine Troyons and a world-famous Corot, merely to get his name in the papers.

" Turp, 1 621,"" said his nephew, who was standing by the ticker.

Then old Wechsler had an idea. If he sold 2,000 shares of Turpentine at 62 or 63, he would have enough to buy the best ten canvases of the collection. His name and the amounts paid would grace the columns of the papers. What was 3,000 shares, or even 4,000, when Sharpe had made such a big, broad market for the stock ?

" Why, I might as well make it 5,000 shares while Fm about it, for there s no telling what may happen if Sharpe should overstay his market. Ill build a new stable at Westhurst " his country place " and call it," said old Wechsler to himself, in his peculiar, facetious way so renowned in Wall Street, " the Turpentine Horse Hotel, in honor of Sharpe." And so his 5,000 shares were sold by E. Halford, who had the order from Herzog, Wertheim & Co., who received it from Wechsler. It was short selling, of course.

Total breach of faith, 15,000 shares.

Now that very evening Bob Lindheim s extremely handsome wife wanted a necklace, and
wanted it at once ; also she wanted it of filbert-sized diamonds. She had heard her husband speak highly of Sam Sharpens masterly manipulation of Turpentine, and she knew he was " in on the ground floor." She read the newspapers, and she always followed the stock market diligently, for Bob, being young and loving, used to give her a share in his stock deals from time to time, and she learned to figure for herself her " paper " or theoretical profits, when there were any, so that Bob couldn t have " welched " if he had wished.
On this particular evening she had statistics ready for him, showing how much money he had made ; and she wanted that necklace. She had longed for it for months. It cost only $17,000. But there was also a lovely bracelet, diamonds and rubies, and-
Lindheim, to his everlasting credit, remonstrated and told her : " Wait until the pool real izes, sweetheart. I don t know at what price that will be, for Sharpe says nothing. But I know we ll all make something handsome, and so will you. I ll give you 500 shares at 30. There ! "

" But I want it now ! " she protested, pouting. She was certainly beautiful, and when she pouted, with her rich, red lips -
" Wait a week, dear," he urged nevertheless.

" Lend me the money now, and I ll pay it back to you when you give me what I make on the deal," she said, with fine finality. And seeing hesitation in Bob s face, she added, solemnly : " Honest, I will, Bob. I ll pay you back every cent, this time."

" 111 think about it," said Bob. He always said it when he had capitulated, and she knew it, and so she said, magnanimously : " Very well, dear."

Lindheim thought 1,000 shares would do it, so he decided to sell a thousand the next day, for you can never tell what may happen, and accidents seldom help the bulls. But as he thought of it in his office more calmly, more deliberately, away from his wife and from the influence she exercised over him, it struck him forcibly that it was wrong to sell 1,000 shares of Turpentine stock. He might as well as not make it 2,500 ; and he did. He was really a modest fellow, and very young. His wife s cousin sold the stock for him, apparently short.

Total breach of faith, 17,500 shares. The market stood it well. Sharpe was certainly a won derful chap.

Unfortunately, Morris Steinfelder, Jr., decided to sell 1,500 "Turp," and did so. The stock actually rose a half point on his sales. So he sold another 1,500, and, as a sort of parting shot, 500 shares more. All this through an unsuspected broker.

Total breach of faith, 21,000 shares. The market was but slightly affected.

Then Louis Reis of Reis & Stem, " Andy " Fischel of Kohn, Fischel & Co., Hugo Zeman of Zeman Bros., and " Joe " Shaffran of Rosenthal, Shaffran & Co., all thought they could break their pledges to Sharpe with impunity, and each sold, to be on the safe side. This last lump figured up as follows :


................Sales First....Period of
................Contemplated...Hesitancy..Actual Sales.

.....................Shares..Minutes....Shares.

Louis Reis.............1,500.....3......2,600
Andy Fischel ..........2,000....15......5,000
Hugo Zeman.............1,000.....0......1,000
Joe Shaffran.............500....1 3/4...1,800

Total breach of faith, 31,400 shares.

The market did not take it well. Sharpe, en deavoring to realize on the remainder of his ma nipulative purchases, found that " some one had been there before him."
An accurate list of the buyers and sellers was sent in every day by his lieutenants, for all but the most skilful operators invariably betray themselves when they attempt to sell a big block of stock. He scanned it very carefully now, and put two and two together ; and he made certain inquiries and put four and four together four names and four other names. He saw through the time-worn device of the fictitious short selling. He knew the only people who would dare sell such a large amount must be his colleagues. He also was convinced that their breach of faith was not a concerted effort, because if they had discussed the matter they would have sold a smaller quantity. He knew where nearly every share of the stock was. It was his business to know everything about it.

" Two," he said to his secretary, " may play at that game." And he began to play.

By seemingly reckless, plunging purchases he started the stock rushing upward with a vengeance 63, 64, 65, 66, four points in as many minutes. The floor of the Stock Exchange was the scene of the wildest excitement. The market why, the market was simply Turpentine. Every body was buying it, and everybody was wonder ing how high it would go, Greenbaum and the other seven included. It looked as if the stock
had resumed its triumphant march to par.

Then Sharpe called in all the stock his brokers were loaning to the shorts, and he himself began to borrow it. This, together with the legitimate requirements of the big short interest, created a demand so greatly in excess of the supply that Turpentine loaned at a sixty-fourth, at a thirty- second, at an eighth, and finally at a quarter premium over night. It meant that the shorts had either to cover or to pay $25 per diem for the use of each 100 shares of stock they borrowed. On the 31,400 shares that the syndicate was borrowing it meant an expense of nearly $8,000 a day ; and in addition the stock was rising in price. The shorts were losing at the rate of many thousands a minute. There was no telling where the end would be, but it certainly looked stormy for both the real and the fictitious shorts.

Mr. Sharpe sent a peremptory message to Greenbaum, Lazarus & Co. ; I. & M. Wechsler ; Morris Steinfelder s Sons ; Reis & Stern ; Kohn, Fischel & Co. ; Silberman & Lindheim ; Rosenthai, Shaffran & Co. ; and Zeman Bros. It was the same message to all :
"Send me at once all your Turpentine stock!"

There was consternation and dismay, also admiration and self-congratulation, among the re
cipients of the message. They would have to buy back in the open market the stock they had sold a few days before. It would mean losses on the treasonable transactions of fully a quarter of a million, but the pool " stood to win " simply fabulous sums, if Mr. Sharpe did his duty.

There were some large blocks of stock for sale at 66, but Sharpens brokers cleared the figures with a fierce, irresistible rush, whooping exultant ly. The genuine short interest was simply panic stricken, and atop it all there came orders to buy an aggregate of 31,400 shares orders from Messrs. Greenbaum, Wechsler, Lindheim, Steinfelder, Reis, Fischel, Shaffran, and Zeman. The stock rose grandly on their buying : 4,000 shares at 66 ; 2,200 at 66| ; 700 at 67| ; 1,200 at 68 ; 3,200 at 69i ; 2,000 at 70 ; 5,700 at 70J ; 1,200 at 72. Total, 31,400 shares bought in by the " Skindicate." Total, 31,400 shares sold by Samuel Wimbleton Sharpe to his own associates in the great Turpentine pool. In all he found buyers for 41,700 shares that day, but it had taken purchases of exactly 21,100 to "stampede the shorts " earlier in the day, and in addition he held 17,800 shares acquired in the course of his bull manipulation, which had not been disposed of when he discovered the breach of faith, so that at the day s close he found himself not only without a share of stock manipulatively purchased, but " short " for his personal account of 2,800 shares.

The newspapers published picturesque accounts of the " Great Day in Turpentine." A powerful clique, they said, owned so much of the stock had " cornered " it that they could easily mark up the price to any figure. They called it a " memorable squeeze." It was hinted also that Mr. Sharpe had been on the wrong side of the market, and one paper gave a wealth of details and statistics in bold, bad type to prove that the wily bear leader had been caught short of 75,000 shares, and had covered at a loss of $1,500,000. A newspaper man whose relations with Sharpe were intimate asked him, very carelessly : "What the deuce caused the rise in Turpentine ? " and Sharpe drawled : " I don t know for a certainty, but I rather imagine it was inside buying ! "

On the next day came the second chapter of the big Turpentine deal. Mr. Sharpe, having received the pool s 114,400 shares, divided it into three lots, 40,000 shares, 50,000 shares, and 24,400 shares. The market had held fairly strong, but the lynx-eyed room traders failed to perceive the usual " support " in " Turp " and began to sell it in order to make sure. There was enough
commission-house buying and belated short-covering to keep it moderately steady. Then the room traders redoubled their efforts to depress it, by selling more than there were buying orders for ; also by selling it cheaper than was warranted by the legitimate demand for the stock. It was a favorite trick to offer to sell thousands of shares lower than people were willing to pay, in order to frighten the timid holders and make them sell ; which in turn would make still others sell, until the movement became general enough to cause a substantial fall.

Slowly the price began to yield. All that was needed was a leader. Whereupon Mr. Sharpe took the first lot of pool stock, 40,000 shares, and hurled it full at the market. The impact was terrible; the execution appalling. The market reeled crazily. The stock, which after selling up to 72 3/4 had "closed" on the previous day at 71 7/8, dropped twenty points and closed at 54. The newspapers said that the corner was " busted"; that the "squeeze" was over. Hundreds of people slept ill that night. Scores did not sleep at all.

On the next day he fired by volleys 50,000 shares more at the market. The stock sank to Such a break was almost unprecedented. The Street asked itself if it were not on the eve of a crash that would become historic in a district whose chronology is reckoned by big market movements.

Greenbaum rushed to Sharpens office. The terrible break gave him courage to do anything. A Wall Street worm will turn when the market misbehaves itself.

" What s the matter ? " he asked angrily. "What are you doing to Turpentine?"

Sharpe looked him full in the face, but his voice was even and emotionless as he replied: "Somebody has been selling on us. I don t know who. I wish I did. I was afraid I might have to take 100,000 shares more, so I just sold as much as I could. I ve marketed most of the pool s stock. If it had not been for the jag of stock I struck around 60 and 62, Turpentine would be selling at 85 or 90 to-day. Come again next week, Greenbaum; and keep cool. Did you ever know me to fail? Good-by, Greenbaum; and don t raise your voice when you speak to me."

"This has gone too far," said Greenbaum, hotly. "You must give me an explanation or by Heaven I ll "

"Greenbaum," said Mr. Sharpe, in a listless voice, " don t get excited. Good-by, Greenbaum.
Be virtuous and you will be happy." And he resumed his caged-tiger pacing up and down his office. As by magic, Mr. Sharpens burly private secretary appeared, and said: "This way, Mr. Greenbaum," and led the dazed Trust-maker from the office. On his return Sharpe told him: " There is no need to accuse those fellows of breach of faith. They d deny it."

The next day Mr. Sharpe simply poured the remaining 25,000 shares of the pool s stock on the market as one pours water from a pitcher into a cup. The bears had it all their own way. The loquacious tape said, ever so plainly: "This is nothing but inside liquidation, all the more dangerous and ominous since it is at such low figures and is so urgent in its character. Heaven alone can tell where it will end; and there is no telephone communication thither."

Everybody was selling because somebody had started a rumor that the courts had dissolved the company for gross violation of the Anti -Trust law, and that a receiver had been appointed. Having sold out the last of the pool s stock, Mr. Sharpe "took in" at $22 a share the 2,800 shares which he had put out at $72, a total profit on his small "line" of $140,000. Turpentine stock had declined fifty points in fifteen business hours. It meant a shrinkage in the market value of the company s capital stock of $15,000,000. The shrinkage in the selfesteem of some of the pool was measurable only in billions.

Sharpe notified his associates that the pool had completely realized i.e., had sold out and that he would be pleased to meet them at his office on Monday this was Thursday at eleven A.M., when he would have checks and an accounting ready for them. He refused himself to Greenbaum, Wechsler, Zeman, Shaffran, and others who called to see what could be done to save their reputations from the wreck of Turpentine. The stalwart private secretary told them that Mr. Sharpe was out of town. He was a very polite man, was the secretary; and an amateur boxer of great proficiency.

Failing to find Sharpe, they hastily organized a new pool, of a self-protective character, and sent in "supporting" orders. They were obliged to take large quantities of stock that day and the next in order to prevent a worse smash, which would hurt them in other directions. They found themselves with more than 50,000 shares on their hands, and the price was only 26 @ 28. And merely to try to sell the stock at that time threatened to start a fresh Turpentine panic.

They met Sharpe on Monday. His speech was not so short as usual. He had previously sent to each man an envelope containing a check and a statement, and now he said, in a matter-of-fact tone:

"Gentlemen and Greenbaum, you all know what I did for Turpentine on the up-tack. Around 62 I began to strike some stock which I couldn t account for. I knew none of you had any for sale, of course, as you had pledged me your honorable words not to sell, save through me. But the stock kept coming out, even though the sellers borrowed against it, as if it were short stock, and I began to fear I had met an inex haustible supply. It is always best on such occasions to act promptly, and so, after driving in the real shorts, I sold out our stock. The average selling price was 40. If it had not been for that mysterious selling it would have been 80. After commissions and other legitimate pool expenses, I find we have made nine points net, or $1,029,600, of which 25 per cent., or $250,000, come to me according to the agreement. It is too bad some people didn t know enough to hold their stock for 90. But I find Wall Street is full of uncertainties there is so much stupidity in the district. I trust you are satisfied. In view of the circumstances, I am. Yes, indeed. Good-day, gentlemen; and you too, Greenbaum, good-day.

There was nothing tigerish about him. He was affable and polished ; they could see that he seemed pleased to the purring point. He nodded to them and went into his inner office.

They blustered and fumed among themselves and gained courage thereby and tried Sharpens door and found it locked. They knocked thereon, vehemently, and the ubiquitous private secretary came out and told them that Mr. Sharpe had an important engagement and could not be disturbed, but that he was authorized to discuss any item of the statement, and he had charge of all the vouchers, in the shape of brokers reports, etc. So they expressed their opinions of the private secretary and of his master rather mildly, and went out, crestfallen. Outside they compared notes, and in a burst of honesty they confessed. Then, illogically enough, they cursed Sharpe. The pool was not "ahead of the game." They had so much more stock on their hands than they desired, that in reality they were heavy losers!

And as time wore on they had to buy more "Turp"; and more "Turp"; and still more "Turp." They thought they could emulate Sharpe and rush the price up irresistibly, at any rate up to 50. They declared a dividend of 2 per cent on the stock. But they could not market Turpentine. Again and again they tried, and again and again they failed. And each time the failure was worse because they had to take more stock.

It is now quoted at 16 @ 18. But it is not readily vendible at that figure ; nor, indeed, at any price. Opposition distilleries are starting up in all the turpentine districts, and the trade outlook is gloomy. And the principal owners of the stock of the American Turpentine Company, holding among them not less than 140,000 out of the entire issue of 300,000 unvendible shares, are the famous "Greenbaum Skindicate."


Next chapter of Wall Street Stories

THE TIPSTER

Next chapter of Wall Street Stories


I

Glmartin was still laughing professionally at the prospective buyer's funny story when the telephone on his desk buzzed. He said: "Excuse me for a minute, old man," to the customer-Hopkins, the Connecticut manufacturer.

"Hello; who is this?" he spoke into the transmitter. "Oh, how are you?-Yes-I was out-Is that so?-Too bad-Too bad-Yes; just my luck to be out. I might have known it!-Do you think so?-Well, then, sell the 200 Occidental common--You know best--What about Trolley?-Hold on?-All right; just as you say--I hope so-I don't like to lose, and-Ha! ha!-I guess so-Good-by."

"It's from my brokers," explained Gilmartin, hanging up the receiver. "I'd have saved five hundred dollars if I had been here at half-past ten. They called me up to advise me to sell out, and the price is off over three points. I could have got out at a profit this morning; but no, sir; not I. I had to be away, trying to buy some camphor."

Hopkins was impressed. Gilmartin perceived it and went on, with an air of comical wrath which he thought was preferable to indifference: "It isn't the money I mind so much as the tough luck of it. I didn't make my trade in camphor after all and I lost in stocks, when if I'd only waited five minutes more in the office I'd have got the message from my brokers and saved my five hundred. Expensive, my time is, eh?" with a woful shake of the head.

"But you're ahead of the game, aren't you?" asked the customer, interestedly.

"Well, I guess yes. Just about twelve thousand."

That was more than Gilmartin had made; but having exaggerated, he immediately felt very kindly disposed toward the Connecticut man.

"Whew!" whistled Hopkins, admiringly. Gilmartin experienced a great tenderness toward him. The lie was made stingless by the customer's credulity. This brought a smile of subtle relief to Gilmartin's lips. He was a pleasant-faced, pleasant-voiced man of three-and-thirty. He exhaled health, contentment, neatness, and an easy conscience. Honesty and good-nature shone in his eyes. People liked to shake hands with him. It made his friends talk of his lucky star; and they envied him.

"I bought this yesterday for my wife; took it out of a little deal in Trolley," he told Hopkins, taking a small jewel-box from one of the desk's drawers. It contained a diamond ring, somewhat showy, but obviously quite expensive. Hopkins's semi-envious admiration made Gilmartin add, genially: "What do you say to lunch? I feel I am entitled to a glass of 'fizz' to forget my bad luck of this morning." Then, in an exaggeratedly apologetic tone: "Nobody likes to lose five hundred dollars on an empty stomach!"

"She'll be delighted, of course," said Hopkins, thinking of Mrs. Gilmartin. Mrs. Hopkins loved jewelry.

"She's the nicest little woman that ever lived. Whatever is mine is hers; and what's hers is her own. Ha! ha! But," becoming nicely serious, "all that I'll make out of the stock market I'm going to put away for her, in her name. She can take better care of it than I; and, besides, she's entitled to it, anyhow, for being so nice to me."

That is how he told what a good husband he was. He felt so pleased over it that he went on, sincerely regretful: "She's visiting friends in Pennsylvania or I'd ask you to dine with us." And they went to a fashionable restaurant together.

Day after day Gilmartin thought persistently that Maiden Lane was too far from Wall Street. There came a week in which he could have made four very handsome "turns" had he but been in the brokers' office. He was out on business for his firm and when he returned the opportunity had gone, leaving behind it vivid visions of what might have been; also the conviction that time, tide, and the ticker wait for no man. Instead of buying and selling quinine and balsams and essential oils for Maxwell & Kip, drug brokers and importers, he decided to make the buying and selling of stocks and bonds his exclusive business. The hours were easy; the profits would be great. He would make enough to live on. He would not let the Street take away what it had given. That was the great secret: to know when to quit! He would be content with a moderate amount, wisely invested in gilt-edged bonds. And then he would bid the Street good-by forever.

Force of long business custom and the indefinable fear of new ventures for a time fought successfully his increasing ticker-fever. But one day his brokers wished to speak to him, to urge him to sell out his entire holdings, having been advised of an epoch-making resolution by Congress. They had received the news in advance from a Washington customer. Other brokers had important connections in the Capital and therefore there was no time to lose. They dared not assume the responsibilty of selling him out without his permission. Five minutes--five eternities!-passed before they could talk by telephone with him; and when he gave his order to sell, the market had broken five or six points. The news was "out." The news agencies' slips were in the brokers' offices and half of Wall Street knew. Instead of being among the first ten sellers Gilmartin was among the second hundred.

II

The clerks gave him a farewell dinner. All were there, even the head office-boy to whom the two-dollar subscription was no light matter. The man who probably would succeed Gilmartin as manager, Jenkins, acted as toastmaster. He made a witty speech which ended with a neatly turned compliment. Moreover, he seemed sincerely sorry to bid good-by to the man whose departure meant promotion--which was the nicest compliment of all. And the other clerks--old Williamson, long since ambition-proof; and young Hardy, bitten ceaselessly by it; and middle-aged Jameson, who knew he could run the business much better than Gilmartin; and Baldwin, who never thought of business in or out of the office-all told him how good he had been and related corroborative anecdotes that made him blush and the others cheer; and how sorry they were he would no longer be with them, but how glad he was going to do so much better by himself; and they hoped he would not "cut" them when he met them after he had become a great millionaire. And Gilmartin felt his heart grow soft and feelings not all of happiness came over him. Danny, the dean of the office boys, whose surname was known only to the cashier, rose and said, in the tones of one speaking of a dear departed friend: "He was the best man in the place. He always was all right." Everybody laughed; whereupon Danny went on, with a defiant glare at the others: "I'd work for him for nothin' if he'd want me, instead of gettin' ten a week from any one else." And when they laughed the harder at this he said, stoutly: "Yes, I would!" His eyes filled with tears at their incredulity, which he feared might be shared by Mr. Gilmartin. But the toastmaster rose very gravely and said: "What's the matter with Danny?" And all shouted in unison: "He's all right!" with a cordiality so heartfelt that Danny smiled and sat down, blushing happily. And crusty Jameson, who knew he could run the business so much better than Gilmartin, stood up--he was the last speaker-and began: "In the ten years I've worked with Gilmartin, we've had our differences and-well-I-well-er-oh, damn it!" and walked quickly to the head of the table and shook hands violently with Gilmartin for fully a minute, while all the others looked on in silence.

Gilmartin had been eager to go to Wall Street. But this leave-taking made him sad. The old Gilmartin who had worked with these men was no more and the new Gilmartin felt sorry. He had never stopped to think how much they cared for him nor indeed how very much he cared for them.

He told them, very simply, he did not expect ever again to spend such pleasant years anywhere as at the old office; and as for his spells of ill-temper-oh, yes, they needn't shake their heads; he knew he often was irritable-he had meant well and trusted they would forgive him. If he had his life to live over again he would try really to deserve all that they had said of him on this evening. And he was very, very sorry to leave them. "Very sorry, boys; very sorry. Very sorry!" he finished lamely, with a wistful smile. He shook hands with each man-a strong grip, as though he were about to go on a journey from which he might never return--and in his heart of hearts there was a new doubt of the wisdom of going to Wall Street. But it was too late to draw back.

They escorted him to his house. They wished to be with him to the last possible minute.

III

Everybody in the drug trade seemed to think that Gilmartin was on the highroad to Fortune. Those old business acquaintances and former competitors whom he happened to meet in the street-cars or in the theatre lobbies always spoke to him as to a millionaire-to-be, in what they imagined was correct Wall Street jargon, to show him that they too knew something of the great game. But their efforts made him smile with a sense of superiority, at the same time that their admiration for his cleverness and their good-natured envy for his luck made his soul thrill joyously. Among his new friends in Wall Street also he found much to enjoy. The other customers-some of them very wealthy men-listened to his views regarding the market as attentively as he, later, felt it his polite duty to listen to theirs. The brokers themselves treated him as a "good fellow." They cajoled him into trading often-every one hundred shares he bought or sold meant $12.50 to them-and when he won, they praised his unerring discernment. When he lost they soothed him by scolding him for his recklessness-just as a mother will treat her three-year-old's fall as a great joke in order to deceive the child into laughing at its misfortune. It was an average office with an average clientele.

From ten to three they stood before the quotation board and watched a quick-witted boy chalk the price changes, which one or another of the customers read aloud from the tape as it came from the ticker. The higher stocks went the more numerous the customers became, being allured in great flocks to the Street by the tales of their friends, who had profited greatly by the rise. All were winning, for all were buying stocks in a bull market. They resembled each other marvelously, these men who differed so greatly in cast of features and complexion and age. Life to all of them was full of joy. The very ticker sounded mirthful; its clicking told of golden jokes. And Gilmartin and the other customers laughed heartily at the mildest of stories without even waiting for the point of the joke. At times their fingers clutched the air happily, as if they actually felt the good money the ticker was presenting to them. They were all neophytes at the great game-lambkins who were bleating blithely to inform the world what clever and formidable wolves they were. Some of them had sustained occasional losses; but these were trifling compared with their winnings.

When the slump came all were heavily committed to the bull side. It was a bad slump. It was so unexpected-by the lambs-that all of them said, very gravely, it came like a thunderclap out of a clear sky. While it lasted, that is, while the shearing of the flock was proceeding, it was very uncomfortable. Those same joyous, winning stock-gamblers, with beaming faces, of the week before, were fear-clutched, losing stock-gamblers, with livid faces, on what they afterward called the day of the panic. It really was only a slump; rather sharper than usual. Too many lambs had been over-speculating. The wholesale dealers in securities-and insecurities--held very little of their own wares, having sold them to the lambs, and wanted them back now-cheaper. The customers' eyes, as on happier days, were intent on the quotation board. Their dreams were rudely shattered; the fast horses some had all but bought joined the steam yachts others almost had chartered. The beautiful homes they had been building were torn down in the twinkling of an eye. And the demolisher of dreams and dwellings was the ticker, that instead of golden jokes was now clicking financial death. They could not take their eyes from the board before them. Their own ruin, told in mournful numbers by the little machine, fascinated them. To be sure, poor Gilmartin said: "I've changed my mind about Newport. I guess I'll spend the summer on my own _Hotel de Roof!_" And he grinned; but he grinned alone. Wilson, the dry goods man, who laughed so joyously at everybody's jokes, was now watching, as if under a hypnotic spell, the lips of the man who sat on the high stool beside the ticker and called out the prices to the quotation boy. Now and again Wilson's own lips made curious grimaces, as if speaking to himself. Brown, the slender, pale-faced man, was outside in the hall, pacing to and fro. All was lost, including honor. And he was afraid to look at the ticker, afraid to hear the prices shouted, yet hoping--for a miracle! Gil-martin came out from the office, saw Brown and said, with sickly bravado: "I held out as long as I could. But they got _my_ ducats. A sporting life comes high, I tell you!" But Brown did not heed him, and Gilmartin pushed the elevator button impatiently and cursed at the delay. He not only had lost the "paper" profits he had accumulated during the bull market, but all his savings of years had crumbled away beneath the strokes of the ticker that day. It was the same with all. They would not take a small loss at first, but had held on, in the hope of a recovery that would "let them out even." And prices had sunk and sunk until the loss was so great that it seemed only proper to hold on, if need be a year, for sooner or later prices must come back. But the break "shook them out," and prices went just so much lower because so many people had to sell whether they would or not.


IV

After the slump most of the customers returned to their legitimate business--sadder, but it is to be feared not much wiser men. Gilmartin, after the first numbing shock, tried to learn of fresh opportunities in the drug business. But his heart was not in his search. There was the shame of confessing defeat in Wall Street so soon after leaving Maiden Lane; but far stronger than this was the effect of the poison of gambling. If it was bad enough to be obliged to begin lower than he had been at Maxwell & Kip's, it was worse to condemn himself to long weary years of work in the drug business when his reward, if he remained strong and healthy, would consist merely in being able to save a few thousands. But a few lucky weeks in the stock market would win him back all he had lost-and more!

He should have begun in a small way while he was learning to speculate. He saw it now very clearly. Every one of his mistakes had been due to inexperience. He had imagined he knew the market. But it was only now that he really knew it, and therefore it was only now, after the slump had taught him so much, that he could reasonably hope to succeed. His mind, brooding over his losses, definitely dismissed as futile the resumption of the purchase and sale of drugs, and dwelt persistently on the sudden acquisition of stock market wisdom. Properly applied, this wisdom ought to mean much to him. In a few weeks he was again spending his days before the quotation board, gossiping with those customers who had survived, giving and receiving advice. And as time passed the grip of Wall Street on his soul grew stronger until it strangled all other aspirations. He could talk, think, dream of nothing but stocks. He could not read the newspapers without thinking how the market would "take" the news contained therein. If a huge refinery burned down, with a loss to the "Trust" of $4,000,000, he sighed because he had not foreseen the catastrophe and had sold Sugar short. If a strike by the men of the Suburban Trolley Company led to violence and destruction of life and property, he cursed an unrelenting Fate because he had not had the prescience to "put out" a thousand shares of Trolley. And he constantly calculated to the last fraction of a point how much money he would have made if he had sold short just before the calamity at the very top prices and had covered his stock at the bottom. Had he only known! The atmosphere of the Street, the odor of speculation surrounded him on all sides, enveloped him like a fog, from which the things of the outside world appeared as though seen through a veil. He lived in the district where men do not say "Good-morning" on meeting one another, but "How's the market?" or, when one asks: "How do you feel?" receives for an answer: "Bullish!" or "Bearish!" instead of a reply regarding the state of health.

At first, after the fatal slump, Gilmartin importuned his brokers to let him speculate on credit, in a small way. They did. They were kindly enough men and sincerely wished to help him. But luck ran against him. With the obstinacy of unsuperstitious gamblers he insisted on fighting Fate. He was a bull in a bear market; and the more he lost the more he thought the inevitable "rally" in prices was due. He bought in expectation of it and lost again and again, until he owed the brokers a greater sum than he could possibly pay; and they refused point blank to give him credit for another cent, disregarding his vehement entreaties to buy a last hundred, just one more chance, the last, because he would be sure to win. And, of course, the long-expected happened and the market went up with a rapidity that made the Street blink; and Gilmartin figured that had not the brokers refused his last order, he would have made enough to pay off the indebtedness and have left, in addition, $2,950; for he would have "pyramided" on the way up. He showed the brokers his figures, accusingly, and they had some words about it and he left the office, almost tempted to sue the firm for conspiracy with intent to defraud; but decided that it was "another of Luck's sockdolagers" and let it go at that, gambler-like.

When he returned to the brokers' office-the next day-he began to speculate in the only way he could-vicariously. Smith, for instance, who was long of 500 St. Paul at 125, took less interest in the deal than did Gilmartin, who thenceforth assiduously studied the news slips and sought information on St. Paul all over the Street, listening thrillingly to tips and rumors regarding the stock, suffering keenly when the price declined, laughing and chirruping blithely if the quotations moved upward, exactly as though it were his own stock. In a measure it was as an anodyne to his ticker fever. Indeed, in some cases his interest was so poignant and his advice so frequent-he would speak of our deal-that the lucky winner gave him a small share of his spoils, which Gilmartin accepted without hesitation-he was beyond pride-wounding by now-and promptly used to back some miniature deal of his own on the Consolidated Exchange or even in "Percy's"-a dingy little bucket shop, where they took orders for two shares of stock on a margin of 1 per cent; that is, where a man could bet as little as two dollars.

Later, it often came to pass that Gilmartin would borrow a few dollars when the customers were not trading actively. The amounts he borrowed diminished by reason of the increasing frequency of their refusals. Finally, he was asked to stay away from the office where once he had been an honored and pampered customer.

He became a Wall Street "has been" and could be seen daily on New Street, back of the Consolidated Exchange, where the "put" and "call" brokers congregate. The tickers in the saloons nearby fed his gambler's appetite. From time to time luckier men took him into the same be-tickered saloons, where he ate at the free lunch counters and drank beer and talked stocks and listened to the lucky winners' narratives with lips tremulous with readiness to smile and grimace. At times the gambler in him would assert itself and he would tell the lucky winners, wrathfully, how the stock he wished to buy but couldn't the week before had risen 18 points. But they, saturated with their own ticker fever, would nod absently, their soul's eyes fixed on some quotation-to-be; or they would not nod at all, but in their eagerness to look at the tape, from which they had been absent two long minutes, would leave him without a single word of consolation or even of farewell.


V

One day, in New Street, he overheard a very well-known broker tell another that Mr. Sharpe was "going to move up Pennsylvania Central right away." The overhearing of the conversation was a bit of rare good luck that raised Gil-martin from his sodden apathy and made him hasten to his brother-in-law, who kept a grocery store in Brooklyn. He implored Griggs to go to a broker and buy as much Pennsylvania Central as he could-that is, if he wished to live in luxury the rest of his life. Sam Sharpe was going to put it up. Also, he borrowed ten dollars.

Griggs was tempted. He debated with himself many hours, and at length yielded with misgivings. He took his savings and bought one hundred shares of Pennsylvania Central at 64, and began to neglect his business in order to study the financial pages of the newspapers. Little by little Gilmartin's whisper set in motion within him the wheels of a ticker that printed on his day-dreams the mark of the dollar. His wife, seeing him preoccupied, thought business was bad; but Griggs denied it, confirming her worst fears. Finally, he had a telephone put in his little shop, to be able to talk to his broker.

Gilmartin, with the ten dollars he had borrowed, promptly bought ten shares in a bucket shop at 63 7/8; the stock promptly went to 62 7/8; he was promptly "wiped"; and the stock promptly went back to 64 1/2.

On the next day a fellow-customer of Gilmartin of old days invited him to have a drink. Gil-martin resented the man's evident prosperity. He felt indignant at the ability of the other to buy hundreds of shares. But the liquor soothed him, and in a burst of mild remorse he told Smithers, after an apprehensive look about him as if he feared some one might overhear: "I'll tell you something, on the dead q. t., for your own benefit."

"Fire away!"

"Pa. Cent, is going 'way up."

"Yes?" said Smithers, calmly.

"Yes; it will cross par sure."

"Umph!" between munches of a pretzel.

"Yes. Sam Sharpe told"-Gilmartin was on the point of saying a "friend of mine," but caught himself and went on, impressively-"told me, yesterday, to buy Pa. Cent., as he had accumulated his full line, and was ready to whoop it up. And you know what Sharpe is," he finished, as if he thought Smithers was familiar with Sharpe's powers.

"Is that so," nibbled Smithers.

"Why, when Sharpe makes up his mind to put up a stock, as he intends to do with Pa. Cent., nothing on earth can stop him. He told me he would make it cross par within sixty days. This is no hearsay, no tip. It's cold facts, I don't hear it's going up; I don't think it's going up; I know it's going up. Understand?" And he shook his right forefinger with a hammering motion.

In less than five minutes Smithers was so wrought up that he bought 500 shares and promised solemnly not to "take his profits," s. o. sell out, until Gilmartin said the word. Then they had another drink and another look at the ticker.

"You want to keep in touch with me," was Gilmartin's parting shot.
"I'll tell you what Sharpe tells me. But you must keep it quiet," with a sidewise nod that pledged Smithers to honorable secrecy.

Had Gilmartin met Sharpe face to face, he would not have known who was before him.

Shortly after he left Smithers he buttonholed another acquaintance, a young man who thought he knew Wall Street, and therefore had a hobby manipulation. No one could induce him to buy stocks by telling him how well the companies were doing, how bright the prospects, etc. That was bait for "suckers," not for clever young stock operators. But any one, even a stranger, who said that "they" the perennially mysterious "they," the "big men," the mighty "manipulators" whose life was one prolonged conspiracy to pull the wool over the public's eyes"they" were going to "jack up" these or the other shares, was welcomed and his advice acted upon. Young Freeman believed in nothing but "their" wickedness and "their" power to advance or depress stock values at will. Thinking of his wisdom had given him a chronic sneer.

"You're just the man I was looking for," said Gilmartin, who hadn't thought of the young man at all.

"Are you a deputy sheriff?"

"No." A slight pause for oratorical effect. "I had a long talk with Sam to-day."

"What Sam?"

"Sharpe. The old boy sent for me. He was in mighty good humor too. Tickled to death. He might well be--he's got 60,000 shares of Pennsylvania Central. And there's going to be from 50 to 60 points profit in it."

"H'm!" sniffed Freeman, sceptically, yet impressed by the change In Gilmartin's attitude from the money-borrowing humility of the previous week to the confident tone of a man with a straight tip. Sharpe was notoriously kind to his old friends rich or poor.

"I was there when the papers were signed," Gilmartin said, hotly. "I was going to leave the room, but Sam told me I needn't. I can't tell you what it is about; really I can't. But he's simply going to put the stock above par. It's 64 1/2 now, and you know and I know that by the time it is 75 the newspapers will all be talking about inside buying; and at 85 everybody will want to buy it on account of important developments; and at 95 there will be millions of bull tips on it and rumors of increased dividends, and people who would not look at it thirty points lower will rush in and buy it by the bushel. Let me know who is manipulating a stock, and to h--l with dividends and earnings. Them's my sentiments," with a final hammering nod, as if driving in a profound truth. "Same here," assented Freeman, cordially. He was attacked on his vulnerable side.

Strange things happen in Wall Street. Sometimes tips come true. It so proved in this case. Sharpe started the stock upward brilliantly the movement became historic in the Street--and Pa. Cent, soared dizzily and all the newspapers talked of it and the public went mad over it and it touched 80 and 85 and 88 and higher, and then Gilmartin made his brother-in-law sell out and Smithers and Freeman. Their profits were: Griggs, $8,000; Smithers, $15,100; Freeman, $2,750. Gilmartin made them give him a good percentage. He had no trouble with his brother-in-law. Gilmartin told him it was an inviolable Wall Street custom and so Griggs paid, with an air of much experience in such matters. Freeman was more or less grateful. But Smithers met Gilmartin, and full of his good luck repeated what he had told a dozen men within the hour: "I did a dandy stroke the other day. Pa. Cent. looked to me like higher prices and I bought a wad of it. I've cleaned up a tidy sum," and he looked proud of his own penetration. He really had forgotten that it was Gilmartin who had given him the tip. But not so Gilmartin, who retorted, witheringly:

"Well, I've often heard of folks that you put into good things and they make money and afterward they come to you and tell how damned smart they were to hit it right. But you can't work that on me. I've got witnesses."

"Witnesses?" echoed Smithers, looking cheap. He remembered.

"Yes, wit-ness-es," mimicked Gilmartin, scornfully, "I all but had to get on my knees to make you buy it. And I told you when to sell it, too.
The information came to me straight from headquarters and you got the use of it, and now the least you can do is to give me twenty-five hundred dollars."

In the end he accepted eight hundred dollars. He told mutual friends that Smithers had cheated him.

VI

It seemed as though the regeneration of Gilmartin had been achieved when he changed his shabby raiment for expensive clothes. He paid his tradesmen's bills and moved into better quarters. He spent his money as though he had made millions. One week after he had closed out the deal his friends would have sworn Gilmartin had always been prosperous. That was his exterior. His inner self remained the same a gambler. He began to speculate again, in the office of Freeman's brokers.

At the end of the second month he had lost not only the $1,200 he had deposited with the firm, but an additional $250 he had given his wife and had been obliged to "borrow" back from her, despite her assurances that he would lose it. This time the slump was really unexpected by all, even by the magnates the mysterious and all-powerful "they" of Freeman's so that the loss of the second fortune did not reflect on Gilmartin's ability as a speculator, but on his luck. As a matter of fact, he had been too careful and had sinned from overtimidity at first, only to plunge later and lose all.

As the result of much thought about his losses Gilmartin became a professional tipster. To let others speculate for him seemed the only sure way of winning. He began by advising ten victims he learned in time to call them clients to sell Steel Rod preferred, each man 100 shares; and to a second ten he urged the purchase of the same quantity of the same stock. To all he advised taking four points' profit. Not all followed his advice, but the seven clients who sold it made between them nearly $3,000 overnight. His percentage amounted to $287.50. Six bought, and when they lost he told them confidentially how the treachery of a leading member of the pool had obliged the pool managers to withdraw their support from the stock temporarily, whence the decline. They grumbled; but he assured them that he himself had lost nearly $1,600 of his own on account of the traitor.

For some months Gilmartin made a fair living, but business became very dull. People learned to fight shy of his tips. The persuasiveness was gone from his inside news and from his confidential advice from Sharpe and from his beholding with his own eyes the signing of epoch-making documents. Had he been able to make his customers alternate their winnings and losses he might have kept his trade. But, for example, "Dave" Rossiter, in Stuart & Stern's office, stupidly received the wrong tip six times in succession. It wasn't Gilmartin's fault, but Rossiter's bad luck.

At length, failing to get enough clients in the ticker district itself, Gilmartin was forced to advertise in an afternoon paper, six times a week, and in the Sunday edition of one of the leading morning dailies.
They ran like this:

WE MAKE MONEY

for our Investors by the best system ever devised. Deal with genuine experts. Two methods of operating; one speculative, the other ensures absolute safety.


NOW

is the time to invest in a certain stock for ten points sure profit Three points margin will carry it. Remember how correct we have been on other stocks. Take advantage of this move.


IOWA MIDLAND.

Big movement coming in this stock. If s very near at hand. Am waiting daily for word. Will get it in time. Splendid opportunity to make big money. It costs only a 2-cent stamp to write to me.


CONFIDENTIAL INFORMATION.

Private secretary of banker and stock operator of world-wide reputation has valuable information. I don't wish your money. Use your own broker. All I want is a share of what you will surely make if you follow my advice.


WILL ADVANCE $40 PER SHARE.

A fortune to be made in a railroad stock. Deal pending which will advance same $40 per share within three months. Am in position to keep informed as to developments and the operations of a pool. Parties who will carry for me 100 shares with a New York Stock Exchange house will receive the full benefit of information. Investment safe and sure. Highest references given.

He prospered amazingly. Answers came to him from furniture dealers on Fourth Avenue and dairymen up the State and fruit growers in Delaware and factory workers in Massachusetts and electricians in New Jersey and coal miners in Pennsylvania and shopkeepers and physicians and plumbers and undertakers in towns and cities near and far. Every morning Gilmartin telegraphed to scores of people at their expense to sell, and to scores of others to buy the same stocks. And he claimed his commissions from the winners.

Little by little his savings grew; and with them grew his desire to speculate on his own account. It made him irritable not to gamble.
He met Freeman one day in one of his dissatisfied moods. Out of politeness he asked the young cynic the universal query of the Street:

"What do you think of 'em?" He meant stocks.

"What difference does it make what I think?" sneered Freeman, with proud humility. "I'm nobody." But he looked as if he did not agree with himself.

"What do you know? " pursued Gilmartin mollifyingly.

"I know enough to be long of Gotham Gas. I just bought a thousand shares at 180." He really had bought a hundred only.

"What on?"

"On information. I got it straight from a director of the company. Look here, Gilmartin, I'm pledged to secrecy. But, for your own benefit, I'll just tell you to buy all the Gas you possibly can carry. The deal is on. I know that certain papers were signed last night, and they are almost ready to spring it on the public. They haven't got all the stock they want. When they get it, look out for fireworks."

Gilmartin did not perceive any resemblance between Freeman's tips and his own.

He said, hesitatingly, as though ashamed of his timidity:

"The stock seems pretty high at 180."

"You won't think so when it sells at 250. Gilmartin, I don't hear this; I don't think it; I know it!"

"All right; I'm in," quoth Gilmartin, jovially. He felt a sense of emancipation now that he had made up his mind to resume his speculating. He took every cent of the nine hundred dollars he had made from telling people the same things that Freeman told him now, and bought a hundred Gotham Gas at $185 a share. Also he telegraphed to all his clients to plunge in the stock.

It fluctuated between 184 and 186 for a fortnight. Freeman daily asseverated that "they" were accumulating the stock. But, one fine day, the directors met, agreed that business was bad, and having sold out most of their own holdings, decided to reduce the dividend rate from 8 to 6 per cent. Gotham Gas broke seventeen points in ten short minutes. Gilmartin lost all he had. He found it impossible to pay for his advertisements. The telegraph companies refused to accept any more "collect" messages. This deprived Gilmartin of his income as a tipster. Griggs had kept on speculating and had lost all his money and his wife's in a little deal in Iowa Midland. All that Gilmartin could hope to get from him was an occasional invitation to dinner. Mrs. Gilmartin, after they were dispossessed for non-payment of rent, left her husband, and went to live with a sister in Newark who did not like Gilmartin.

His clothes became shabby and his meals irregular. But always in his heart, as abiding as an inventor's faith in himself, there dwelt the hope that some day, somehow, he would "strike it rich" in the stock market.

One day he borrowed five dollars from a man who had made five thousand in Cosmopolitan Traction. The stock, the man said, had only begun to go up, and Gilmartin believed it and bought five shares in "Percy's," his favorite bucket shop. The stock began to rise slowly but steadily. The next afternoon "Percy's" was raided, the proprietor having disagreed with the police as to price.

Gilmartin lingered about New Street, talking with other customers of the raided bucket shop, discussing whether or not it was a "put up job" of old Percy himself, who, it was known, had been losing money to the crowd for weeks past. One by one the victims went away and at length Gilmartin left the ticker district. He walked slowly down Wall Street, then turned up William Street, thinking of his luck. Cosmopolitan Traction had certainly looked like higher prices. Indeed, it seemed to him that he could almost hear the stock shouting, articulately: "_I'm going up, right away, right away!_" If somebody would buy a thousand shares and agree to give him the profits on a hundred, on ten, on one!

But he had not even his carfare. Then he remembered that he had not eaten since breakfast. It did him no good to remember it now. He would have to get his dinner from Griggs in Brooklyn.

"Why," Gilmartin told himself with a burst of curious self-contempt, "I can't even buy a cup of coffee!"

He raised his head and looked about him to find how insignificant a restaurant it was in which he could not buy even a cup of coffee. He had reached Maiden Lane. As his glance ran up and down the north side of that street, it was arrested by the sign:

MAXWELL & KIP

At first he felt but vaguely what it meant. It had grown unfamiliar with absence. The clerks were coming out. Jameson, looking crustier than ever, as though he were forever thinking how much better than Jenkins he could run the business; Danny, some inches taller, no longer an office boy, but spick and span in a blue serge suit and a necktie of the latest style, exhaling health and correctness; Williamson, grown very gray and showing on his face thirty years of routine; Baldwin, happy as of yore at the ending of the day's work, and smiling at the words of Jenkins--Gilmartin's successor, who wore an air of authority, of the habit of command which he had not known in the old days.

Of a sudden Gilmartin was in the midst of his old life. He saw all that he had been, all that he might still be. And he was overwhelmed. He longed to rush to his old associates, to speak to them, to shake hands with them, to be the old Gilmartin. He was about to step toward Jenkins, but stopped abruptly. His clothes were shabby, and he felt ashamed. But, he apologized to himself, he could tell them how he had made a hundred thousand and had lost it. And he even might borrow a few dollars from Jenkins.
Gilmartin turned on his heel with a sudden impulse and walked away from Maiden Lane quickly. All that he thought now was that he would not have them see him in his plight. He felt the shabbiness of his clothes without looking at them. As he walked, a great sense of loneliness came over him.

He was back in Wall Street. At the head of the Street was old Trinity; to the right the Sub-Treasury; to the left the Stock Exchange.

From Maiden Lane to the Lane of the Ticker--such had been his life.

"If I could only buy some Cosmopolitan Traction!" he said. Then he walked forlornly northward, to the great bridge, on his way to Brooklyn, to eat with Griggs, the ruined grocery man.

Next chapter of Wall Street Stories