“Thank you. Now won’t you have a bottle of champagne with me?”
“I am much obliged to you, Glasswood, but I can’t stop any longer now. I must get your stock for you before four, or it will cost you twenty-five to-morrow.”
“You are confident that this is a safe thing for me—are you not?”
“Oh, perfectly confident!” exclaimed he. “If you don’t believe in it, don’t do it.”
“I rely upon your statements, and go in upon the assurance of what you say.”
“Of course you must run your own risk. I can only advise you to do what I would do myself.”
“That’s enough.”
He left me to procure the certificates of stock in the Bustumup Company. I was to wait in the private room I had taken until his return. I was alone, and when I began to think what I was doing, I was appalled at the possibility of failure. I was in debt to the bank in the sum of eight thousand dollars. If my investment should go wrong I could not hope to make good the loss. I should be obliged to flee from my wife and my home, and end my days in exile, if I should be so fortunate as to escape without detection. A cold sweat stood on my forehead as I thought of the possibility of discovery, of being arrested even before I supposed any one suspected me, and of being condemned to the State Prison for ten years or more.
I rang the bell, and ordered a bottle of champagne. I drank several glasses of it, and the fumes went to my brain. I felt better. My thoughts began to flow in another direction under the influence of the sparkling fluid. Bustumups would advance every day. In a week or two they would go up to a hundred dollars a share. If they did this, I should make twenty thousand dollars, besides having my capital returned to me. I should be able to pay off the bank, and have seventeen thousand dollars left. My dream of future success was colored with the pinkiest tint of the wine I drank.