“Oh, anybody that wants, can have Manhattan Cab then,” said Joe with a grin. “I’ll be short on the stock, myself.”
“Where will you get yours?” asked Harry.
“After the company’s incorporated, I’ll have a set of directors of course. I’ll have them vote me a thousand shares out of the treasury stock for my services in promoting the company. Then I mean to put some real money into it, too. When the stock is first put out on the curb, I’ll be the buyer, see? To create a market. I’ll get it cheap. I’ll have two or three thousand shares when the time comes to sell.”
“It listens good,” said Harry.
“Oh, I’ve only given you the rough outlines. I’ve got the details all planned out.”
“But you’re not nineteen yet,” objected Harry. “Your face is too smooth. You couldn’t command attention.”
“Lord! what do you think I am!” said Joe. “I’m not going to appear in this personally. It would queer me, after. This isn’t going to be my last deal on the street. I’ll get fellows to act for me. You don’t think I’d undertake to sell Amasa Gore any stock, do you? He don’t look on me in that light. And you know how sore it makes him when anybody disarranges his ideas. . . . No, I want you to put me onto somebody who will take on the promotion of the company, after I’ve got my thousand shares. I want a young fellow with plenty of vim and go; enthusiastic, but not too smart. What they call idealistic, see? It’ll be my job to fire up his steam. A fellow with a name that is known in the street, if possible.”
“There is Silas Moore Bristed,” suggested Harry.
“That’s a good-sounding name. I’ve heard it before.”
“Sure, you have. He’s grandson to the first Silas Moore Bristed, the famous inventor, whose name is borne by several big corporations. But it’s all passed out of the family. Young Silas is as poor as a church mouse. He’s a salesman in a bond house.”