“That you, Mr. Bird?”
“Yes. L. S. is on the slump, and no telling where it will fetch up; but you’re safe, young man. Your order to sell came in the very nick of time. I disposed of your stock at seventy-six, the top figure, and I had hardly recorded the transaction before Yates, a big gun, dumped ten thousand shares on the market. Hartz couldn’t handle it, and pandemonium has resulted. I congratulate you. You had the closest kind of a call. See you later. Good-bye.”
“Gee whiz!” muttered Jack as he hung up the receiver, barely repressing a whoop of delight. “I’ve scooped the trick! And to think that a minute ago I was nearly frightened out of my boots!”
CHAPTER XII.
THE DUDE AND THE VIOLETS.
Jack hustled on his next errand as if the wings of Mercury were attached to his ankles.
He was fairly tickled to death over the coup he had made on the market.
Five thousand dollars!
It kept ringing in his ears and marked time to his nimble footsteps.
And it was pleasant music, too, you may well believe.