And J. Malcolm Weston, realizing how he had failed on Winn, who he now knew was in the city, and had been in the exchange that day, hung his head in shame.
He even forgot to stroke his "stun'sls," as Jess called his side whiskers.
But there was one solace left him, and he proceeded to carry it out. In fact, he had made preparation to do so already.
"We will close up our business now, Mr. Simmons," he said in a dejected tone, when the tirade of abuse had ceased, "and in future I will employ another broker."
"Yes, and you are d——d welcome to do it," asserted Simmons, whose wrath had not cooled. "You made a holy show of me to-day and let that upstart, Page, turn the tables on me, and I've had enough of you. You had better go and hold a prayer service with Mrs. Converse. With Rockhavens at nothing bid, she will be in a suitable mood for prayers. You might ring the changes on 'The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away' with her, but you won't bear any resemblance to the Lord in her estimation. Take your business and your schemes and hide yourself somewhere. I would suggest you go to Rockhaven and ask your 'old fossil fiddler' to play the 'Rogues' March' for you."
And, having thus relieved his mind, Simmons, turned to his desk, and after a half-hour of careful computation handed Weston a statement and check for one hundred and ten thousand dollars, which represented the net results of the securities Weston had turned over to him, after deducting the actual loss they had made on Rockhaven. For the money received from the sale of some thirty thousand shares at one dollar each, had more than been consumed in buying back stock at various prices to affect the market, in the quarrying operations, in Market News items, and various other outgoes.
What Weston did receive after over a year of scheming was less than the original capital Hill had put into the firm. Weston had previously checked out and pocketed the firm's own bank balance, and now he went the way he had for months planned to go, and that night left the city.
And his wife, who had shrewdly insisted that their residence be deeded to her, in case of business reverses, shed no tears.
It was a fitting climax to the life of a J. Malcolm Weston.
But there was another episode of equal interest, and that the outcome of Weston's robbery of Hill. And when that has been told, no more shall either of these despicable men taint this narrative.