Jacobs came down to business at once. “I’ll make it $8,” he said, conciliatingly.
“Jim Burr, who had the position before me,” expostulated Sally, indignantly, “told me he received $25 a week from Mr. Grant, with an extra $10 thrown in from time to time, when Mr. Grant made some lucky turn, to say nothing of what the other men did for him.”
Three months before he could not have made this speech had his life depended on it. The rapid development of his character was due exclusively to the “forcing” power of the atmosphere which surrounded him.
“You must be crazy,” said Jacobs, angrily. “Why, I never get much more than a thousand shares a week from Tracy & Middleton, and usually less. Say, you ought to be on the floor. You are wasting your talent in the telephone business, you are. Let’s swap places, you and I.”
“According to our books,” said Sally to the irate broker, having been duly coached by Mr. William Simpson, “the last week you did business for us you did 3,800 shares, and received $76.”
“That was an exceptional week. I’ll make it $10,” said Jacobs.
“Twenty-five,” whispered Sally, determinedly.
“Let’s split the difference,” murmured Jacobs, wrathfully. “I’ll give you $15 a week, but you must see that I get at least 2,500 shares a week.”
“All right. I’ll do the best I can for you, Mr. Jacobs.”
And he did, for the other brokers gave him only twenty-five cents, or at the most fifty cents per hundred shares. In the course of a month or two Sally was in possession of an income of $40 a week. And he was only eighteen.