“That’s right. I heard you.”
“Buying! Buying! I said buying!” shrieked the tipster.
“Yes, buying! That is what I understood you to say,” the deacon assured him. He was standing by the ticker, looking at the tape.
“But you are selling it.”
“Yes; ten thousand shares.” And the deacon nodded. “Selling it, of course.”
He stopped talking to concentrate on the tape and the tipster approached to see what the deacon saw, for the old man was very foxy. While he was looking over the deacon’s shoulder a clerk came in with a slip, obviously the report from Frank. The deacon barely glanced at it. He had seen on the tape how his order had been executed.
It made him say to the clerk, “Tell him to sell another ten thousand Sugar.”
“Deacon, I swear to you that they really are buying the stock!”
“Did Mr. Havemeyer tell you?” asked the deacon quietly.
“Of course not! He never tells anybody anything. He would not bat an eyelid to help his best friend make a nickel. But I know this is true.”