Helen looked dazed for a few seconds. She stared at Joe as though she did not understand what he had said. She looked at the oil stock certificates in his hand. Joe continued to regard them dubiously.
"Worthless—my investment worthless?" Helen asked, after a bit.
"That's what I'm afraid of," Joe replied. "Of course I don't know much about stocks, bonds and so on, but a man said this stock certificate wasn't worth the price of a good cigar," and he held up the one the hospital patient had given him. "Yours is the same kind, Helen, I'm sorry to say."
"How do you know, Joe? Let me see them."
Joe gave her the two papers—elaborately printed, and lavishly enough engraved to be government money, but aside from that worthless.
Then Joe told of the incident in the hospital—how he had accidentally heard the man speak of the Circle City Oil Syndicate, and the conversation that followed.
"If what he says is true, Helen, your money is gone," Joe finished.
"Yes, I'm afraid so." she said slowly. "Oh, dear, isn't it too bad? And I was just thinking how nice it would be if I could increase my fortune. Now I am likely to lose it. I wish I had known more about business. I'd never have let this man fool me."
"I wish I had, too," remarked Joe. "Then I'd have advised you not to risk your money in oil. But perhaps it isn't too late yet."
"What do you mean?"