While I was lookin' 'em over, wonderin' what to do next, I spots Abey Winowski on the fringe of the push. And say, it wa'n't so long ago that Abey was wearin' sky-blue pants and a Postal shield, trottin' out with messages from District Ten. But here he is, with a checked ulster and a five-dollar hat, writin' figures on a pad.
"Hello, Motzie!" says I. "How long since they lets the likes of you inside the ropes?"
"Hello, Torchy!" says he. "Got any orders?"
"I'm lined with 'em," says I. "What's good?"
"Blitzen," says he. "It's on the seesaw; but'll fetch fifty."
"Ain't it a wildcat?" says I.
"Just from the menagerie," says he. "Goin' to take a dollar flyer?"
"Guess I'll see what my brokers has to say first," says I.
With that I goes around to a little joint I knows of, where they has a board for unlisted stocks, and I sets back and watches the curves Blitzen was makin'. First she'd jump four or five points, and then she'd settle back heavy. The Curb was playin' tag with it; that was all, so far as I could see. Nice lot of Hungry Jakes to feed with int'rest-bearin' securities!
About fifteen minutes before the market closed I quit and moseyed along uptown, just killin' time and tryin' to figure out what ought to be done. Course, I didn't have any idea of playin' private detective and showin' Piddie up to Mr. Robert,—that's out of my line,—but I didn't like the scheme of just chuckin' the bonds back at him and let him get away with any bluff about my interferin' with something I didn't understand at all. Besides, if the returns showed that he'd have won on the deal, what was to hinder his tryin' the same trick again next time he got the chance? That wouldn't been a fair shake for the firm.