Jack hastened into the private den.
“Here is a memorandum for one hundred and twenty-five shares of L. S. which I bought for your account at thirty-six and a half, but I’ve made it thirty-six, as that was the figure you ordered the stock at, and as I didn’t buy it till yesterday I had to pay the fraction extra. I’ll hold the stock subject to your order, of course. I’m satisfied that a corner has been formed to bull the stock, and that it will go up to some purpose in a day or two. I stand to win something handsome myself on this deal, and when I’ve cashed in, I’m going to treat you to a Sherry blow-out.”
“Well, I hope you’ll make a good thing out of it, Mr. Bird, for you’ve put me in the way of becoming a small capitalist myself.”
“You don’t owe me any thanks; it’s all the other way. But recollect you’ve assumed the responsibility of your own deal. I only hope you won’t make a wrong move. After the stock will have reached a certain figure—and what that will be no man can guess—the bottom is liable to drop out at any moment. Should you be caught on the toboggan, your profits will vanish like smoke.”
“Yes, sir; I understand that. But I’m out for experience, and I’m banking that it’ll be on the right side.”
“Well, my lad, I admire your nerve; but while you have the advantage of inside information at the start, your lack of experience on the market may land you in the soup when you least expect it.”
In spite of his natural assurance, Jack’s nerves were all of a tingle during the next ten days as he followed the rising quotations of L. S. from 36½ to 76, the closing figure when the Exchange shut down on the tenth day.
Several times he had actually been on the point of ordering the big broker to sell him out, but he hesitated at the golden prospect of a higher market.
“With a syndicate probably backed by millions behind it, it will surely go to par,” he reasoned with boyish enthusiasm.
He was assailed by the same fatal temptation that has ruined thousands on the very brink of a successful coup.