“And he couldn’t produce?”
“He didn’t. Just before the Exchange closed Lebanon and Jericho touched twenty-two.”
“And Mr. Hartz sold him out?”
“Not at all. Hartz had something else to do than thinking about that measley little transaction.”
“But I heard him tell the man he had closed him out at twenty-two,” persisted Jack.
“Well,” said the clerk, with a wink, “there are more ways than one of killing a cat. The boss saw a chance of getting rid of an undesirable customer when he noted that the stock had touched twenty-two, though the last quotation, a few minutes later, was twenty-four and three-eighths. He simply made an arrangement this morning with another broker and told Jenkins to make an entry of the transaction as having occurred yesterday and to report him closed out at twenty-two—see? That’s done every day,” nodding good-bye to Jack.
The boy understood, and his lip curled at the meanness of the transaction, for the steal was small.
Not only that, but Jack knew that most reputable brokers, in a case where a man had been a good customer of the house, would sooner have strained a point in his favor than have worked the squeeze game against him.
But Hartz wasn’t accustomed to do business in that way.
“I’m dead sorry for the poor old fellow,” murmured Jack, turning to leave, just as Jenkins came over and thrust the statement into Tuggs’ trembling fingers.