The old fellow looked at it blankly.
“I believe it’s all a lie,” he said, hoarsely. “I don’t believe Hartz has sold my stock at all. It touched twenty-two, and he reports it sold at the lowest price, though it rose immediately to twenty-four and three-eighths. They credit it on my account at twenty-two, and it is now thirty, and they steal a profit to themselves of over eight hundred dollars, and cast me out a beggar. It closed at twenty-two and three-eighths, and opened at twenty-two and five-eighths. It is infamous! But what can I do? I am ruined. I am helpless. I am utterly at the mercy of this man. He is rich with the money he has taken from fools like me, and yet he will not help me.”
Jack listened to his ravings in silent pity and held the door open for him to totter out.
Later in the day, just after the Exchange had closed, Jack ran across Tuggs again on Wall Street, coming out of an office building with a bundle in his hand.
He looked more despairing than ever, if that could be possible.
He stood for several minutes, looking up and down the thoroughfare as if not knowing which way to go.
Then he started across the street, staggering like a drunken man, just as an express wagon came swinging along at a rapid rate.
Jack sprang forward just in the nick of time to save him from being trampled on by the horses.
“Where in thunder are you going to?” the driver yelled at him in an angry tone.
Tuggs took no notice of the remark.