The broker took the certificates and glanced at them.
“One of those wild-cat mines advertised in the daily press to catch fools,” said the gentleman, handing them back.
“Then you wouldn’t advise me to invest fifty dollars in these five thousand shares?”
“Hardly, Jack. Still, fifty dollars isn’t much to risk, and it is always possible for one of these mines, which are floated on the reputation of rich ore leads in their neighborhood, to turn up a winner. If you can get these shares for fifty dollars and can afford to invest that amount on a one-hundred-to-one shot, as I should call it, why, it’s better than many investments I know of.”
“Thank you, sir. They belong to that old man yonder, who has been ruined on the market. He was rich once, but he caught the Street fever, and Hartz, on Exchange Place, has been his doctor—I should say, broker,” grinned the boy.
Bird’s face clouded at the mention of Hartz’s name.
“Hartz is one of the slickest men on the Street,” said Mr. Bird, “and one of the hardest, too, as I know to my cost. There isn’t a particle of mercy in his make-up. He’s ruined half a dozen brokers, to my certain knowledge. If it hadn’t been that my rash attempt on my life that morning frightened him into making a certain concession, I should have been down and out. As it is, he didn’t lose anything, and I was able to weather the storm.”
“I have it from one of Hartz’s clerks that the old man left all his money at their office. I should think he’d do something for an old customer who had been so unfortunate.”
“Hartz isn’t built that way,” replied Oliver Bird.
“You don’t think Hartz took an unfair advantage of him right along, do you?” asked Jack.