CHAPTER IX.
JACK’S FIRST INVESTMENT.
The old man dropped his package on the sidewalk, and the string becoming undone the contents were spilled out.
Jack stooped down to pick them up and found they were certificates of some kind of mining stock he had never heard of.
Each one represented 500 shares of the Gopher Gold Mining Company, of Bullfrog, Nevada.
At the sight of them Tuggs seemed to brighten up a bit.
“Do you want to buy them?” he asked, eagerly.
“What are they worth?” asked Jack, smiling at the idea of a messenger boy being able to acquire even 500 shares of any reputable mining stock.
“Millions!” exclaimed the old man.
“That settles it,” thought the boy. “He’s crazy, sure.”
“Why don’t you sell them to somebody that’s got the money to pay for them. You look as if you needed the cash,” said Jack, aloud.
“Nobody will buy them,” replied Tuggs, sadly.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
“They can’t have a market value, then.”
“The company says they’re worth ten cents a share. I paid three cents for them more than a year ago.”
“Perhaps the company’ll buy them in, then,” suggested Jack.
“I don’t know. Their office is in Denver.”
“Why don’t you write to the company?”
“I want some money now—to-day. I haven’t a cent to pay my room rent or get something to eat,” wailed the old man.
“Well, here’s a half a dollar for you; that’ll see you through till to-morrow.”
“You’re very kind. I’m afraid I sha’n’t live long. I’d like to sell you this stock cheap. There’s five thousand shares, and you can have it for a hundred dollars, or even fifty, if you haven’t so much as that. Some day it will be valuable. It’s selling for ten cents a share to-day; that makes the shares worth five hundred dollars.”
“I’m afraid I can’t buy them,” said Jack, shaking his head.
“It’s a pity,” mumbled Tuggs. “You’re losing the chance of your life.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do for you. Come up to our office and leave the certificates. I’ll give you a receipt for them. Then I’ll ask our manager what he thinks they’re worth as a speculation. He knows a good deal about Western mines. If they’re worth anything, perhaps the firm will take them off your hands or I can get somebody to buy them.”
Just then Jack spied Oliver Bird coming out of his office.
“Wait a moment,” he said. “Maybe I can find out about them now. Here’s a broker I’m acquainted with. I’ll let him see them.”
So the messenger boy darted up to Mr. Bird, who was glad to see him and shook him cordially by the hand.
“I wish you’d tell me, Mr. Bird, if this stock is worth anything,” said Jack.
The broker took the certificates and glanced at them.
“One of those wild-cat mines advertised in the daily press to catch fools,” said the gentleman, handing them back.
“Then you wouldn’t advise me to invest fifty dollars in these five thousand shares?”
“Hardly, Jack. Still, fifty dollars isn’t much to risk, and it is always possible for one of these mines, which are floated on the reputation of rich ore leads in their neighborhood, to turn up a winner. If you can get these shares for fifty dollars and can afford to invest that amount on a one-hundred-to-one shot, as I should call it, why, it’s better than many investments I know of.”
“Thank you, sir. They belong to that old man yonder, who has been ruined on the market. He was rich once, but he caught the Street fever, and Hartz, on Exchange Place, has been his doctor—I should say, broker,” grinned the boy.
Bird’s face clouded at the mention of Hartz’s name.
“Hartz is one of the slickest men on the Street,” said Mr. Bird, “and one of the hardest, too, as I know to my cost. There isn’t a particle of mercy in his make-up. He’s ruined half a dozen brokers, to my certain knowledge. If it hadn’t been that my rash attempt on my life that morning frightened him into making a certain concession, I should have been down and out. As it is, he didn’t lose anything, and I was able to weather the storm.”
“I have it from one of Hartz’s clerks that the old man left all his money at their office. I should think he’d do something for an old customer who had been so unfortunate.”
“Hartz isn’t built that way,” replied Oliver Bird.
“You don’t think Hartz took an unfair advantage of him right along, do you?” asked Jack.
“Now you’re treading on delicate ground, young man. But I think I can answer your question this way: I dare say he had as much show to win out at Hartz’s as at any other broker’s. No speculator who monkeys with the stock market has an even show for his money. It isn’t the broker’s fault; it’s the game he’s up against. The outside public make no money out of the brokers; the brokers live on the outside public. You simply bet that a certain stock will go up or down; generally it goes the way you don’t expect, and there you are.”
“Or you hold on too long,” suggested the boy, who thought he knew why most of the uninitiated dropped their wealth.
“Of course; but who can guess the right moment to unload, eh, Jack?”
“Well, I feel sorry for the old man. It’s evident he’s seen better days. I am thinking of taking this stock on the bare chance it may turn out to be worth something one of these days.”
“Well, that’s your lookout, Jack. I don’t advise you to buy it; but if you want to take a flyer of that kind, the experience will probably be worth the price to you. Good-bye. Come up and see us soon.”
“Thank you, I will. Good afternoon, Mr. Bird.”
Then Jack rejoined Tuggs, who during the interval waited for him like a submissive animal at the command of his master.
“Come with me; I’m going back to our office. I’ll put your stock in the safe and give you a receipt for it. Come down about noon to-morrow, and I’ll give you fifty dollars for it.”
Tuggs was satisfied, got his receipt, and left the neighborhood.
Next day Jack bought the stock in regular form.
When he told Mr. Bishop what he had done, that gentleman rather frowned upon the transaction.
Finally he laughed, and told Jack to write to Denver, enclosing the numbers of the certificates, and request the secretary of the company to make the proper transfer on the books of the company.
He did so at the first chance, and went home feeling like a bloated capitalist on a limited scale.