An ugly glint came into Harrish’s eyes, but his voice was as suave as usual as he replied:
“Mr. Varley has no equity in those stocks. The money that he owes me for the advances I have made on the stock to cover his losses in the stock market amounts to the full value of the collateral he placed in my hands.”
Joe drew an arrow at a venture.
“He hasn’t suffered any losses in the stock market.”
“What do you mean by that?” Harrish asked.
“I mean by that,” Joe answered, still stating as a fact what he believed with all his heart but was at the moment unable to prove, “that you haven’t bought or sold a single share of stock for Mr. Varley in the market. I mean that you’ve been bucketing his orders, pretending to buy or sell, and charging against him any losses suffered by any stock that you happened to pick out as suitable for your purpose.”
Harrish summoned up a look of virtuous indignation.
“I bucket an order!” he ejaculated. “I never bucketed an order in my life. As a matter of fact, I couldn’t if I wanted to. It’s against the law. Every broker is required to furnish his customer with a written statement showing the execution of the order, the exact time it was made on the floor of the Exchange, and the name of the floor broker who put the order through. Mr. Varley will tell you that he has received such a statement every time a transaction has been put through on his account. Isn’t that so, Mr. Varley?” he asked, turning to Reggie.
“I guess it is,” admitted Reggie.
“Well, there’s positive proof that the purchases and sales were bona fide,” said Harrish triumphantly. “Mr. Varley has lost his money in legitimate speculation, and he has to take his medicine like any other loser. I think you owe me an apology, Mr. Matson.”