The next day they found that the shares opened at 79–two hours later they were going at 82.
"I'm going to sell, Bob," said Fred. "It's getting dangerous."
"It may go up to 100."
"We had better stand from under," said Fred, shaking his head.
"Well, let her go."
Fred hastened to Bowles' office and told him to sell. In five minutes it was done, and they had made over $6,000 on the deal. Manson sent Bob to Bryant with a note. Somebody had just dumped 3,000 shares on the big broker and he was in a bad humor when Bob came to him with the note. He looked down and saw who it was–the boy who had gotten the situation for his typewriter–and quick as a flash he gave him a kick that sent him sprawling on the floor. Bob had the note still in his hand when he scrambled to his feet again. But he did not deliver it. He staggered out of the Exchange, feeling sick from the effects of the blow, and made his way back to the office, where he told Mr. Manson what had happened.
"It was an accident, Bob," the broker said. "The excitement in there is awful, you know."
"No, sir. It was no accident," said Bob. "He hates me because I found a place for his typewriter who left him because he wanted to make love to her."
Munson laughed and said:
"That must me a mistake, my boy."