“Speak up, my boy. I am a little hard of hearing,” said Mr. Robison through his nose, with a pleasant smile.
The customers, to a man, blessed the catarrh that caused the deafness which would give them the tip they all expected.
“The photographer says the pictures came out very fine indeed.”
The looking and listening customers, to a man, murmured, “Stung again!”
“Wait a minute my lad. Here!” and he gave the office-boy a five-dollar bill and a small envelope.
“Thank you very much, sir,” said the boy. He put the five dollars in his pocket, beamed gratefully on Mr. Robison, gazed pityingly at the customers, and looked at the envelope. It said, “Mr. Richards.”
He gave the envelope to Mr. Richards, who had retreated into the private office. The broker opened it. It contained one of Robison's slips, on which was written:
Buy twenty thousand Con. Steel at the market.
J. B. Robison.
Richards rushed the order to the Board Room. It helped to steady the price. Presently Mr. Richards approached Robison and sat in the empty place beside him. Feeling that they were not wanted, two polite customers moved away, ostensibly not to hear; but they tried to listen just the same.