“Foreign stock rising, eh!” inquired the latter.
“Yes, sir,” replied the other, glancing his eye over the paper, “particularly Columbian and Australian.”
“How goes the share market?”
“Brisk, sir, in many things—Gondar Railroad at a premium—Congo Canal at 125⅜—Ashantee Salt Company, 105½—Mocaranga Timber, 109—Biafra Gold Mines, 200.”
“Capital!” exclaimed the elder, rubbing his hands together briskly, and his forbidding features assuming an expression of intense gratification. “I shall do well by my speculations there;—but how goes the Madagascar Silkworm Company?”
“Down to 45, sir,” replied the thin man.
“Bankrupt and jails! you scoundrel, it can’t be,” furiously exclaimed the other.
“It is so here, sir,” said his companion humbly.
“Then my eternal malediction rest on all silk worms. I’ve lost some thousands. But you haven’t said any thing about the Timbuctoo Beet-root Sugar.”
“Down to 22, sir.”