“Why, she’s flowing right along, and I got a despatch early this morning that gave me a good three hours’ start on the market. It’s been a mighty lucky day for Colonel Dale, and not a bad one for yours truly, I can tell you. I shouldn’t be surprised if we’d netted a cool hundred thousand. By the way, your company got badly left! How did that happen? I thought you were on the spot. The other boys said you were to stay there until to-day.”
During these remarks the face of the scout grew white and red by turns. Now he sprang from his chair in a state of the greatest agitation, crying: “What do you mean, man? The Dale-Dustin is a dry hole! What sort of a telegram did you receive this morning?”
“Dry hole! well, I should smile!” exclaimed the broker. “There is the first despatch that I got this morning, and I have had several since confirming it.”
With this he handed to the scout a telegraph form on which was written:
“To R. Sims, Petroleum Exchange,
“Oil City, Pennsylvania:
“Have not struck the oil yet in any quantities. The well now is proving everything bad but fear a regular duster.
“Arthur Dale.”
“You see,” explained Mr. Sims, “we were afraid some of you scouts might bribe the operator, or get hold of our despatches in some way. So we arranged to have all messages referring to the well read just the opposite of what was really meant, until every other word was crossed out. Then you see it comes out all right.”
“Oh! it comes out all right, does it?” groaned the scout as he hastily left the office. “Well, it may be for you, but I am afraid it is all wrong for me.”