“Who gave it to you?” The idea of a girl like Maria ever having money enough to buy anything of that kind never occurred to her.
“Nobody; I bought it; paid two dollars a share for it and now it's up to three, and Mr. Slathers, our floor-walker, says it's going to twenty-five. I've got a profit of twenty dollars on mine now.”
Abbie made a mental calculation; twenty dollars was a considerable part of her month's salary.
“And everybody in our store has got some. Mr. Slathers has made eight hundred dollars, and I know for sure that Miss Henders is going to leave the cloak department and set up a typewriting place, because she told me so; she's got a brother in the feed business who staked her.”
“Staked her? What's that?”
“Loaned her the money,” answered Maria, a certain pity in her voice for one so green and countrified.
“How do you get it?” Abbie's eyes were shining like the disks of a brass letter scale and almost as large—they were still upon Maria.
“The money?”
“No, the stock.”
“Why, send Mr. Keep the money and he buys the stock and sends you back the certificate. Want to see mine? I've got it pinned in—Here it is.”