“And to the standing of your house,” Adam interrupted.
“Certainly. Why not? That’s what we’re in business for.”
“But what do you think of it—you, remember; you—Philip Colton—are you willing to swear that the mine is worth the money the trust company will lend on it?”
“I make an affidavit! Not much! What I say is everybody’s property; what I think is nobody’s business but my own. The mine may strike virgin copper in chunks and it may not. That’s where the gamble comes in. If it does the bonus stock they get for nothing will be worth par.” He was a little ashamed as he said it. He was merely repeating what he had told his customers in advance of the issue, but they had not returned his gaze with Adam’s eyes.
“But you in your heart, Phil, are convinced that it will not strike virgin copper, aren’t you? So much so that you wouldn’t take Madeleine’s money, or my money, to put into it.” These search-lights of Gregg’s had a way of uncovering many secret places.
Philip turned in his chair and looked at Adam. What was the matter with the dear fellow this afternoon, he said to himself.
“Certainly not—and for two reasons: first, you are not in the Street; and second, because I never gamble with a friend’s money.”
“But you gamble with the money of the innocent men and women who believe in your firm, and who in the end buy these bonds of the trust company, don’t you?”
“Well, but what have we got to do with the bonds after we sell them? We are not running the mine, we’re only getting money for them to run it on, and incidentally our commissions,” and he smiled knowingly. “The trust company does the same thing. This widow-and-orphan business is about played out in the Street. The shrewdest buyers we have are just these people, and they get their cent per cent every time. Don’t you bother your dear old head over this matter; just be glad it’s coming out all right—I am, I tell you!”
Gregg had risen from his chair and was standing over Philip with a troubled look on his face.