“A friend,” she said, very slowly, “who knows all about Wall Street, told me last night that it made a difference of $1,000 to me.”
“So it does, in a way; that is, if you tried to sell your bonds. But as you are not going to do so until they show you a handsome profit, you need not worry. Don’t be concerned about the matter, I beg of you. When the time comes for you to sell the bonds I’ll let you know. Never mind if the price goes off a point or two. You are amply protected. Even if there should be a panic I’ll see that you are not sold out, no matter how low the price goes. You are not to worry about it; in fact, you are not to think about it at all.”
“Oh, thanks, ever so much, Mr. Colwell. I didn’t sleep a wink last night. But I knew——”
A clerk came in with some stock certificates and stopped short. He wanted Mr. Colwell’s signature in a hurry, and at the same time dared not interrupt. Mrs. Hunt thereupon rose and said: “Well, I won’t take up any more of your time. Good morning, Mr. Colwell. Thanks ever so much.”
“Don’t mention it, Mrs. Hunt. Good morning. You are going to do very well with those bonds if you only have patience.”
“Oh, I’ll be patient now that I know all about it; yes, indeed. And I hope your prophecy will be fulfilled. Good morning, Mr. Colwell.”
Little by little the bonds continued to decline. The syndicate in charge was not ready to move them. But Mrs. Hunt’s unnamed friend—her Cousin Emily’s husband—who was employed in an up-town bank, did not know all the particulars of that deal. He knew the Street in the abstract, and had accordingly implanted the seed of insomnia in her quaking soul. Then, as he saw values decline, he did his best to make the seed grow, fertilizing a naturally rich soil with ominous hints and headshakings and with phrases that made her firmly believe he was gradually and considerately preparing her for the worst. On the third day of her agony Mrs. Hunt walked into Colwell’s office. Her face was pale and she looked distressed. Mr. Colwell sighed involuntarily—a scarcely perceptible and not very impolite sigh—and said: “Good morning, Mrs. Hunt.”
She nodded gravely and, with a little gasp, said, tremulously: “The bonds!”
“Yes? What about them?”
She gasped again, and said: “The p-p-papers!”