Although I foolishly had confidence in Carrie's ability to keep out of trouble, I did not for a minute believe that the securities she was selling were worth the paper they were printed on. Still, as most of the women who called to see me seemed to be persons of means who could well afford to contribute toward our support, I did not feel any serious compunctions at advising them to invest. It seemed no worse than picking a rich man's pocket or robbing a wealthy bank—and it was not half so difficult or so hazardous to life and liberty.
OUR BANKING BUBBLE BURSTS
One day, however, something happened that filled me with honest indignation at Carrie Morse and her schemes. A poor, bent old widow called to see me—a woman whose threadbare clothes and rough hands plainly showed how she had to struggle to make a living. Tied up in her handkerchief she had $500 which she had just drawn from a savings bank.
"It's all I have in the world," she said with tears in her eyes, "and I've had to scrimp and slave for every cent of it. I saw Mrs. Morse's advertisements and I've been to see her this morning. She says if I'll give my money to her she can double it for me in two years. Would I better do it? I'm only a poor old woman and I want you to give me your advice?"
As diplomatically as I could I explained to her that, while Mrs. Morse's scheme was an excellent one, it would be much wiser for a woman in her circumstances to keep her money in the savings bank, and I made her promise that she would put it back there at once. Then I put on my hat and coat and hurried over to the bank to see Carrie Morse.
As usual Carrie was in the midst of an enthusiastic description of her stocks while a long line of women anxiously awaited their turn with her. I took her by the arm, led her into one of the private offices, and shut the door.
"Carrie Morse, this sort of business has got to stop," I said with all the emphasis I could. "I'm willing to help you swindle women who can afford to lose the money, but I positively will not have any part in taking the bread out of the mouths of poor widows like the one you just sent over to see me. Sooner than do that I'll starve—or go back to robbing banks or picking pockets."
"There, there—don't get excited," she said soothingly. "Perhaps I did make a mistake in encouraging the poor widow. But this is a business where you can't help being deceived sometimes. Often the women who plead poverty the hardest and dress the poorest really have the most money hidden away. I'll give you my word of honor, though, that I won't accept any money from that widow even if she tries to force it on me."
Somewhat mollified at this I started back home to renew my interviews with the prospective investors who came daily in crowds.