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Fame and Fortune Weekly No. 1: A Lucky Deal; or The 'Cutest Boy in Wall Street

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<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</h2> THE GREATEST SCARE OF HIS LIFE. When the Exchange closed that afternoon L. S. was quoted at 36⅛. It opened at the same figure on the following morning, and when business was over for the day Jack’s eager eyes noticed that it had advanced only one-half a point. Next day it opened at 37, and during the morning the young speculator managed to drop in on Oliver Bird. “Come inside,” said his friend, the broker. “I want to see you.” Jack hastened into the private den. “Here is a memorandum for one hundred and twenty-five shares of L. S. which I bought for your account at thirty-six and a half, but I’ve made it thirty-six, as that was the figure you ordered the stock at, and as I didn’t buy it till yesterday I had to pay the fraction extra. I’ll hold the stock subject to your order, of course. I’m satisfied that a corner has been formed to bull the stock, and that it will go up to some purpose in a day or two. I stand to win something handsome myself on this deal, and when I’ve cashed in, I’m going to treat you to a Sherry blow-out.” “Well, I hope you’ll make a good thing out of it, Mr. Bird, for you’ve put me in the way of becoming a small capitalist myself.” “You don’t owe me any thanks; it’s all the other way. But recollect you’ve assumed the responsibility of your own deal. I only hope you won’t make a wrong move. After the stock will have reached a certain figure—and what that will be no man can guess—the bottom is liable to drop out at any moment. Should you be caught on the toboggan, your profits will vanish like smoke.” “Yes, sir; I understand that. But I’m out for experience, and I’m banking that it’ll be on the right side.” “Well, my lad, I admire your nerve; but while you have the advantage of inside information at the start, your lack of experience on the market may land you in the soup when you least expect it.” In spite of his natural assurance, Jack’s nerves were all of a tingle during the next ten days as he followed the rising quotations of L. S. from 36½ to 76, the closing figure when the Exchange shut down on the tenth day. Several times he had actually been on the point of ordering the big broker to sell him out, but he hesitated at the golden prospect of a higher market. “With a syndicate probably backed by millions behind it, it will surely go to par,” he reasoned with boyish enthusiasm. He was assailed by the same fatal temptation that has ruined thousands on the very brink of a successful coup. Twice Jack had received a hint from Mr. Bird—the last a strong one. He considered them and then decided to hold on a while longer. “Say, Jack, what’s the matter with you; you’re as nervous as an old woman,” said Ed as they were on their way home on the afternoon of the day the stock touched 76. “Am I?” returned the lad, with a queer sort of laugh. “I didn’t notice it.” “Sure you are. What’s up? You aren’t thinking of running off with Millie Price and getting married, are you?” jokingly. “Hardly, old man.” “Haven’t been robbing the office safe with a view of emigrating to Canada?” “Not much chance for that,” with what was intended to be a cheerful grin. “Then what’s troubling you?” “Is my hair turning gray?” “I haven’t noticed that it is,” said Potter, in some surprise. “Why?” “I didn’t know but that it was, you seemed so concerned about me.” “Stop your jollying. You’re different to what you were a week ago, and that’s enough to show that you’ve got something on your mind. Ain’t I your friend?” “Certainly.” “Then you oughtn’t to keep me in the dark.” “I won’t—after to-morrow.” “Why not now?” “Because I’ve particular reasons.” Ed was by no means satisfied with this answer, but he had to let it go at that. Jack’s mother and sister had also noticed and remarked on the change that had come over him, but to all their anxious inquiries he refused to admit that there was anything the matter with him. That evening he spent studying the market quotations for the past week and figuring upon the chances of L. S. going higher. Finally the big broker’s warning that at any moment he might expect to be lost in the shuffle if he tempted fortune too far decided his course of action for the next day. “I’ll order Mr. Bird to sell first thing in the morning,” he said to himself. Once he had reached a decision, the matter was settled for good and all. Notwithstanding that fact, his dreams that night were enough to set his hair on end. Nevertheless he was perfectly cool and collected next morning when he reached the office and exchanged the usual greetings with Millie Price. “I’ve never seen you look so much like a little man of business as you do to-day, Jack,” laughed Millie. “And I’ve never seen you look half so pretty as you do this morning,” responded the lad, gallantly. Millie blushed to the eyes. “Really, you’re too complimentary for anything,” she said as she busied herself with her machine. Jack laughed. “Will you do me a favor?” he asked. “I should be delighted,” she replied. “What is it?” “Put a fresh sheet of paper on your machine. I want you to write a note for me.” “Certainly. There; now I’m ready for you to dictate.” “All right. Got the date down?” “Yes.” “Then here goes: ‘Mr. Oliver Bird,—Wall Street. Dear Sir—Please close out my L. S. stock——’” “Your what?” almost gasped Millie, stopping the machine. “Please don’t interrupt me, Miss Price,” said Jack, with a sober countenance, while the girl stared at him with all her eyes. “Go on,” said Jack. “Stock, I think, was the last word. ‘Stock at the ruling quotation at once, and oblige yours very truly.’ That’ll do. I’ll sign it while you are addressing the envelope.” “Is this one of your jokes, Jack?” asked Millie, handing him the envelope. “I’m not in the habit of joking in matters of business,” replied Jack, with a serio-comic expression. “Then you really are dabbling in stocks, which you ought not to do,” said Millie, severely. “Do you take me for a kid, Miss Price?” asked the boy, trying hard to suppress a grin. “‘Miss Price’! Come—I like that!” she exclaimed, flashing a half-reproachful glance at him. “I was only teasing you, Millie. Yes; I have been fooling a bit with the market. Eleven days ago I bought on the usual ten-per-cent margin one hundred and twenty-five shares of L. S. at thirty-six. I am going to sell out at once.” Millie grabbed up that morning’s “Wall Street Indicator” and ran her eyes down the list of stock quotations. “Here it is: L. S. closing price, seventy-six. Jack Hazard! You don’t mean to say——” The girl stopped through sheer amazement. “I don’t mean to say what?” laughed Jack. “That you have one hundred and twenty-five shares.” “That’s what I have.” “And you bought in at thirty-six?” “That’s what I did.” “Why, that’s a profit of five thousand dollars, you reckless boy!” gasped Millie, after a rapid mental calculation. “That’s the way I figured it—if the price doesn’t break before my broker can sell it this morning.” “Well!” That’s all she said, for just then Mr. Bishop came in; but the exclamation spoke volumes. “I should like to go out five minutes on a little matter of business, Mr. Bishop,” said Jack, and on receiving the desired permission, he rushed down to Bird’s office and handed in the envelope, which he had marked “Important.” It was half-past ten when the young messenger returned to the office from his first errand. “Mr. Bishop wants you,” said the bookkeeper. The manager was dictating to Millie. “Take this note——” began Mr. Bishop to Jack. “Mr. Warren wishes to see you, sir,” interrupted a clerk at that juncture. “Tell him to step right in.” Mr. Warren, one of the firm’s largest customers, walked into the private office hurriedly. “Say, Bishop, I just got out in time, didn’t I? L. S. has gone to pieces, and the Exchange is in a panic.” Millie, with a startled look, glanced at Jack. The boy had turned as white as a ghost. “You’re wanted at the ’phone, Hazard,” said another clerk, poking his head inside the sanctum. “May I——” began the boy, in a shaky voice. “Certainly; answer it,” said the manager, without looking up. “Poor boy,” murmured Millie as Jack almost staggered out of the private office. “I feel so sorry for him,” and she looked as if she wanted to cry. “What’s the matter with your messenger?” asked Mr. Warren. “Nothing that I know of,” replied Mr. Bishop, in surprise. “Why?” “Why, he looked as if he was going to faint just now.” “I didn’t observe it; maybe he’s sick. He didn’t say anything about feeling bad. So the bottom has fallen out of L. S., eh?” In the meantime Jack reached the ’phone and grasped the receiver in a mechanical way. “Well?” he shouted, hoarsely. “That you, Jack?” “That you, Mr. Bird?” “Yes. L. S. is on the slump, and no telling where it will fetch up; but you’re safe, young man. Your order to sell came in the very nick of time. I disposed of your stock at seventy-six, the top figure, and I had hardly recorded the transaction before Yates, a big gun, dumped ten thousand shares on the market. Hartz couldn’t handle it, and pandemonium has resulted. I congratulate you. You had the closest kind of a call. See you later. Good-bye.” “Gee whiz!” muttered Jack as he hung up the receiver, barely repressing a whoop of delight. “I’ve scooped the trick! And to think that a minute ago I was nearly frightened out of my boots!” <hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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