Title: Fame and Fortune Weekly, No. 1, October 6, 1905: A Lucky Deal; or The Cutest Boy in Wall Street
Author: Man, Self-Made
Language: English
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1, OCTOBER 6, 1905 ***



Fame and Fortune Weekly

STORIES OF BOYS WHO MAKE MONEY


_Issued Weekly--By Subscription $2.50 per year. Entered according to
Act of Congress, in the year 1905, in the office of the Librarian of
Congress, Washington, D. C., by Frank Tousey, Publisher, 24 Union
Square, New York._

=No. 1=      NEW YORK, OCTOBER 6, 1905.      =Price 5 Cents=



 A LUCKY DEAL;
 OR,
 The Cutest Boy in Wall Street.

=By A SELF-MADE MAN.=



CHAPTER I.

THE WOLF AT THE DOOR.


“I’ve been robbed!” gasped Mrs. Hazard, a pleasant-featured little
woman of perhaps forty, sinking into a chair, her face the picture of
dismay.

“Mother,” exclaimed her daughter Annie, a slender, delicate girl of
fifteen, who sat in a cane rocker, feather-stitching an infant’s jacket
with blue silk, a small pile of the unfinished garments lying in a box
on a table before her, “what do you mean?”

“The rent money is gone. I had it in this corner of the bureau, waiting
for the agent, whom I expect at any moment. There were two fives and
five ones. They are not here now. Where could they have gone?”

“The money may have slipped under some article in the drawer, mother,”
suggested the girl, anxiously.

“No; I have searched and turned over everything. The money is gone. How
are we to face this fresh misfortune?”

Mother and daughter looked at one another in silent discouragement.

And well they might feel discouraged since, with the exception of
perhaps fifty cents in silver, the missing money had represented their
entire capital.

And Jack, the other member of the family, a particularly bright and
ambitious boy of sixteen years, had just lost his position, owing to
the failure of the firm with whom he had been employed ever since the
death of the husband and father, two years before, had thrown them upon
their own resources.

During the lifetime of Mr. Hazard the family had lived in a rented
house on a side street in a very respectable neighborhood uptown and
had been considered well off.

Jack and Annie had graduated from the public school and were expecting
to enter the high school with the next term, when their father died
suddenly, and it was found that Mr. Hazard, who had been a liberal
provider, had lived up to his means and, what was more unfortunate, had
neglected to insure his life.

Of course, Mrs. Hazard had to move to a cheaper home and neighborhood,
for the few dollars she found herself possessed of after the funeral
and other necessary expenses had been paid would not keep them for any
great length of time.

Jack soon found a position with a wholesale house down town, at five
dollars a week.

Annie, who was naturally quite expert at fine needlework and
embroidery, preferred to take in work to do at home to seeking a place
in a factory or in a store as a salesgirl, because she was not very
strong.

But home work was not very remunerative, so that the family really was
dependent upon Jack, who fortunately was strong and healthy.

Thus they managed to live--exist might perhaps be the better word--in a
very humble but contented way until the boy was unexpectedly thrown out
of work a few days before.

Fortunately Mrs. Hazard had got her rent together, for the first of the
month was at hand and the landlord’s agent was a strict man of business
and showed no favors to any of the tenants.

And now at the very last minute, as if to prove that misfortune never
comes singly, the money she had saved by many small sacrifices was
suddenly found to be missing.

It certainly was hard luck.

“Somebody must have taken it, mother,” said Annie, after a short
silence.

“The bills were there this morning after John went out, for I noticed
them,” said the little mother, sadly.

“And I’ve been in here all the time except a few minutes when I ran out
to the grocer’s. Was anyone here while I was out?”

“Only Maggie McFadden.”

Miss McFadden lived in the flat across the hall.

“You don’t think she could have taken the money, do you, mother?”

“I don’t want to think that she did,” replied Mrs. Hazard, mournfully.

“Maggie lost her position two weeks ago because there was some trouble
about her accounts,” said Annie, slowly, as though an unpleasant
suspicion was forcing itself in her mind.

The McFadden girl, who was somewhat airy and pert in her manners, was
conspicuous in the neighborhood for the number and variety of her gowns
and hats, and the gossips wondered where she got the money to pay for
them all.

When approached on the subject she invariably said that Denny, her
brother, made “slathers of dough on the races,” thereby intimating that
that was the source which produced much of her finery; but many of her
acquaintances knew Denny better than she had any idea of, and these
persons rather doubted Miss Maggie’s statement.

At any rate, when she lost her position as cashier of a large packing
house, the neighbors winked their eyes one at another and whispered, “I
told you so.”

Mrs. Hazard was at no loss to understand what her daughter meant, and
the sigh she uttered spoke her own thoughts as plainly as words.

“We never could accuse her,” continued Annie, dejectedly.

Mrs. Hazard shook her head.

“Poor Jack! What will he say when we tell him?” said Annie. “It will
be such a shock to him. He is so hopeful. He told me only this morning
that as long as we had next month’s rent in hand the future didn’t
worry him. He’d see we got along somehow. Isn’t he just the best and
dearest brother in the world?”

“I dread the agent’s visit, for he will surely be here to-day. He is
always so prompt. What shall I say to him?”

“I don’t know, mother.”

The crisis was too much for them, and mother and daughter wept silently
together.

At that moment there came a sharp rap on the door.

Mrs. Hazard started, hastily wiped her eyes, and with a nervous glance
at her daughter, answered the summons.

Mr. Grab, the agent for the premises, walked brusquely into the room.

“Good afternoon, madam. I presume you have been expecting me?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Mrs. Hazard, faintly.

“I never like to disappoint my tenants,” said the agent grimly. “Here
is your receipt, I suppose you have the money ready.”

“I am afraid, sir, I will have to ask you to wait a few days,” said
Mrs. Hazard, anxiously.

“Haven’t you the money, madam?” spoke the agent rather roughly.

“I did have it in my bureau drawer, but----”

“But what?” demanded Mr. Grab, sharply.

“It is gone,” said the little woman, with tears stealing down her
cheeks.

“Gone!” ejaculated the agent, lifting his shaggy brows, “Where?”

“I don’t know.”

Mr. Grab rubbed his chin, on which had sprouted a three days’ growth of
bristly reddish hair, and a threatening look came into his eyes.

“Madam, this is a very lame excuse,” he said, angrily.

“It is the truth, sir.”

“You can’t pay, then?”

“No, sir; but if you will wait----”

“Wait, madam! I expect my tenants to pay up promptly. My experience
is that if one can’t pay on the first one can’t pay on the second or
third, and that if you trust a tenant once he always tries to take
advantage of your good nature.”

“But, sir, I have never failed to have the money ready before, and we
have lived here more than a year.”

“Quite right, madam; and in consideration of that fact I will on this
occasion allow three days’ grace. I will call at twelve o’clock on
Friday, and if you are not ready to pay then, I will have to serve you
with dispossess proceedings. Good day, madam.”

Mr. Grab thereupon took his departure, leaving his distressed tenants
in a sad state of perplexity as to where the needed fifteen dollars
would come from in so short a space of time.



CHAPTER II.

IN WHICH JACK HAZARD MAKES A HERO OF HIMSELF.


When Jack Hazard left his home that morning, after kissing his mother
and sister, as was his invariable custom, he was in good spirits.

“I’ll get something to do to-day sure,” he said to himself. “Mother
has the rent, thank goodness, and I haven’t that on my mind.”

He found his particular friend, Ed Potter, waiting for him at the
corner.

Ed worked in a Vandewater Street printing house, and he and Jack always
walked down town from the neighborhood of Grand Street together of a
morning.

“Haven’t caught on yet, have you, Jack?” inquired Potter.

“No; but I’ve a dozen places here I’ve cut out of the ‘World’ that I’m
going to look up.”

“Hope you’ll connect with one. If you knew anything about typesticking
I could put you on to a job. There’s a shop on Nassau Street wants
a boy to pull proofs, hold copy, and fill in at the case on plain
reprint. If you were only up in the business you could get seven or
eight dollars a week.”

“I should like to earn as much as that,” said Jack, eagerly, “but I
guess I’ll have to be satisfied with less to start with.”

“Why, one of these jobs is in Brooklyn,” said Ed. “You aren’t going
over there after work, are you?”

“Sure, if I fail to get it on this side of the bridge,” replied Jack,
with a determined air.

“But it’ll cost you carfare every day.”

“No, it won’t; I mean to walk over the bridge.”

“You’ll have to leave the house earlier.”

“I guess I will, and get home later; but when a fellow is looking for
work, things don’t always come his way. However, I mean to try for all
my New York ads first.”

“Oh, that Brooklyn place will be gone long before you cover all these
other jobs. It won’t be worth while bothering about it.”

“I’m not letting anything get by me.”

Which showed that Jack Hazard was a persevering boy: and perseverance
is one of the greatest factors of success through life.

The two boys parted at the entrance to the freight elevator of the
Vandewater Street printing house, and Jack turned into Frankfort
Street, crossed over to William, and began his daily hustle for work.

At many places he found a crowd already collected before he arrived,
and after waiting a short time failed to secure an interview, as some
boy ahead of him got the job.

One place the man wanted him to work every Saturday till ten at
night, and offered him the munificent sum of $3.50 per week, with a
prospective raise of fifty cents at the end of six months.

Jack refused this, as he believed he could do much better, and besides
he really could not afford to work for so small a sum.

At another place he found he would have to work on Sunday every other
week, and, this being against his principles, he moved on.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to strike that Brooklyn place, after all,” he
said as he stepped out of a Water Street ship chandlery that had
advertised for a bright boy and had taken a youth on trial an hour
before.

A fleet of canal-boats was banked up against the wharves opposite, and
Jack felt a strong temptation to hang around a little while and watch
them take aboard and discharge their cargoes.

But, realizing that this wasn’t business, he turned away and hurried up
the street.

“I might as well cross by Fulton Ferry,” he mused; “it’ll save time,
and time is money with me just now.”

Although the three cents made a hole in the dime he had brought with
him to pay for his lunch, Jack received his change with his customary
cheerfulness and walked on board the boat.

It was half-past nine, and the boy noticed that quite a number of
passengers were on board as the boat pulled out from the dock and
headed across the river.

He leaned on the rail alongside a fine-looking old gentleman who held
a little girl of five years by the hand while he pointed out various
landmarks along the receding shore to a stylishly-dressed lady who
looked enough like him to be his daughter.

“Gran’pa! gran’pa!” cried the child, tugging at the gentleman’s hand.

“Yes, my dear,” he answered, smiling down on her.

“Lift me up, p’ease; I want to see, too.”

The old gentleman raised the little girl and seated her on the rail
while he held her about the waist.

She looked up and down the sun-kissed river in great delight.

“Isn’t it b’utiful, mamma?”

“Yes, dear.”

Then she noticed Jack’s admiring gaze.

He thought she was the most charming little creature he had ever seen.

She smiled in a friendly way, and then with some little hesitation held
out one of her hands to him.

He took it and shook it gently.

“Oo is a nice boy, ain’t oo?”

The old gentleman looked at Jack, and the lady smiled, while the
boy himself flushed a little at the child’s artless remark and the
attention it had drawn to him.

“Oo! Isn’t dat high!” cried the girl, pointing at the central span of
the Brooklyn bridge.

“Yes,” answered Jack.

Just then the engine bell rang, and the boat stopped in mid-stream,
while her whistle gave out several shrill toots.

Another gong sounded, and the boat began to back and her head to swerve
slowly down the river.

Jack looked ahead as well as he could and saw part of a large freight
float close aboard.

Then came a sudden and violent shock that threw the passengers almost
off their feet.

The boy grabbed the rail, but the old gentleman went down on the deck,
his arm slipping from the child, who went overboard with the shock.

The lady, who had been thrown back several feet, gave a heart-rending
scream and flew at the rail.

“Fanny, my darling! Oh, heaven, she is overboard! Save her!”

The little girl had struggled for a moment on the surface of the river
and then sank out of sight.

One or two men in the midst of the confusion ran to get
life-preservers, and everybody else, except Jack Hazard, seemed to be
staggered by the calamity, and gazed out on the water with bulged eyes.

But the boy never lost his head.

Jack whipped off his jacket, mounted the rail, and leaped into the
water.

He struck out lustily for the spot where the child had gone down, and
presently saw one little arm and a portion of her golden hair appear on
the surface not far away.

“There she is,” he murmured, and redoubled his efforts to reach her
before she should go down again.

But she went under again before he could seize her, and the plucky boy
dived.

Though encumbered by his clothes, Jack was so much at home in the
water that he had little difficulty in following the descent of
the bright-hued dress the child wore, and he had one arm about the
unconscious little one in a brief space of time.

Kicking out with all his might, he rose to the surface like a duck.

A life-preserver floated near.

Resting the little girl’s head on it, he pushed it before him toward
the ferryboat, the rail and end of which were now black with excited
people.

Several deck hands were standing outside the folding guards with ropes
in their hands, and the moment Jack was seen to be within reach one of
them flung his line so that it struck the water close to him.

He seized the end with his disengaged hand, and the men began to pull
him in at once.

Less than ten minutes from the time the girl was pitched into the river
Jack had her back on board and regained the deck himself.

Dripping like a large Newfoundland, he was instantly surrounded by an
admiring group of passengers loud in their commendations on his courage
and presence of mind.

At the same time another throng gathered about the unconscious child,
its well-nigh frantic mother, and the white-haired old gentleman.

“Come down into the boiler-room, young fellow,” spoke up a strapping
deck hand, “and we’ll dry your clothes for you.”

And Jack, glad to get rid of the attentions of the crowd, followed his
guide to the warm regions beneath the engine-room.

“Hello!” exclaimed a grimy-faced stoker. “Been overboard, eh?”

“That’s what he has,” said the deck hand. “Done what’ll put his name in
the papers, Jim. Jumped overboard after a little gal that fell in from
the rail where she was sitting when that barge run us afoul.”

“Is that so?” cried Jim. “Tip us your flipper, lad; you’ve got the real
thing in you, all right.”

“Strip, young man. It won’t take but a moment or two to take the
moisture out of your clothes down here. I reckon you’ll find it hotter
than blazes afore you leave.”

“It isn’t every fellow would do what you did,” said the sweating
coal-heaver, admiringly.

“Oh, I didn’t mind it; I’m a good swimmer,” said Jack, modestly.

“You ought to make a stake out of this,” said the man, hanging the
dripping garments about to the best advantage.

“What do you mean?”

“The little gal’s people ought to be grateful enough to hand you out
something handsome.”

“If it’s money you mean,” replied the boy, stoutly, “I shouldn’t accept
a cent.”

“You wouldn’t?” gasped the man, in surprise.

“Not a nickel.”

“Why not? You’re entitled to something. You ought to have a new suit of
clothes at any rate--the best that can be bought.”

Jack was silent.

“Maybe you’re well off and don’t want nothing,” said the stoker, after
giving the furnace a rake with a long iron implement.

“No, I’m not well off; but I don’t take money for such a service as
that.”

“Well, you’re a curious kind of chap,” replied the man, scratching his
head and looking the naked but well-formed lad over from his head down.
“I’d take money mighty quick if ’twas me as done the trick. I s’pose
you’re too proud, eh?”

“You don’t seem to understand,” said Jack, who wished the fellow would
talk about something else.

“Say,” came a voice down the stoke-hole, “send up that young fellow as
soon as his things are dried. The gal’s folks have been asking for him
and want to see him bad.”



CHAPTER III.

IN WHICH JACK GETS A JOB IN WALL STREET.


“What is your name, my boy?” asked the white-haired old gentleman who
had accompanied the lady and the little girl on the ferryboat when, a
little later, just before the boat was ready to start on her return
trip across the river, Jack presented himself in his wrinkled and
not thoroughly dried clothes before him in the waiting-room of the
ferry-house.

The little girl and her mother had been taken to a nearby hotel, in
order that the child’s garments could be removed.

“Jack Hazard.”

“And my name is Seymour Atherton. Well, Jack, you have placed my
daughter and myself under the greatest of obligations to you. You are
a brave lad. Your courage and presence of mind saved the life of our
dearest treasure, and it would be utterly impossible for us to thank
you sufficiently.”

“I hope you’ll not let that trouble you, sir. I’m glad to have been of
service to you.”

“Young man, it would trouble us a great deal more than you have any
idea of if we did not make some little return that will show our
appreciation of your gallant deed.”

“But I don’t want to be paid for doing my duty, sir,” objected Jack,
with a flush.

“I am not speaking about payment, my lad, in the sense you perhaps
imagine. Such a service as you have rendered us is quite beyond
monetary reward,” said the old gentleman, feelingly. “But it is not
impossible that we can do something in another way. I like your face.
It is a bright one, stamped with energy and determination. You will
make your way in the world, I have not the least doubt. It will do you
no harm to ‘have a friend at court,’ as the saying is. You must let us
know you better.”

“I’ve no objection to that,” said the boy, with a frank smile.

“That’s right,” said Mr. Atherton, cheerfully. “Now, in the first
place, you have almost ruined your clothes. It is only fair that you
allow me to buy you a new suit at once.”

To this offer Jack made no objection.

So he permitted the old gentleman to take him to a large furnishing
goods store, where he was fitted out with new underclothes, shirt, tie,
etc., and from thence to a clothing establishment, where one of the
best suits was placed at his disposal, his own clothes being wrapped up
and ordered to be sent to his home.

“Now you must come with me to the hotel and let me introduce you to my
daughter and the little girl who owes you such a debt of gratitude,
which when she grows older she will realize.”

Jack put up some little objection, but was overruled.

“I presume you are out on some business for the house with which you
are employed, but if you will give me the name and address I will make
it all right for you.”

Then Jack blushingly admitted that he was out of work and had come to
Brooklyn in search of a position which he had seen advertised.

“Indeed,” remarked the old gentleman. “It will give me great pleasure
to put you in the way of what you are in search, and at the same time
give me an opportunity of knowing you better. How would you like to
work in Wall Street?”

“I should like it very much indeed,” said Jack, eagerly.

“My son will need a messenger boy in a day or so, as the lad he has is
about to leave. You shall have the place. I will telephone to him from
the hotel and secure the position for you at once.”

“I thank you very much, sir,” said the boy gratefully. “My mother and
sister depend largely on me, and I am sorry to say that I really need a
job very badly.”

“I am glad to know that I can be of use to you in so important a
particular,” said the old gentleman, in a tone of satisfaction. “Here
we are; let us go in.”

The first thing Mr. Atherton did was to get in communication with his
son, a Wall Street banker and broker, and he had no difficulty in
making good his promise to Jack.

Then they went upstairs in the hotel to the room that had been
temporarily engaged by Mrs. Bruce (which was the name of Mr. Atherton’s
daughter).

“Laura, dear, this is Jack Hazard, the boy who saved our little Fanny’s
life. You may remember he was standing near us at the time Fanny fell
into the river.”

We will not repeat what Mrs. Bruce said to Jack.

She felt as all fond mothers do feel under the circumstances, and
expressed herself accordingly.

She was deeply grateful for what the boy had done, and she brought him
over to the bed where little Fanny lay covered up, waiting for her
garments to dry, and made the child kiss him and say, “T’ank oo, Jack.”

While it is very nice to be praised, and all that, for doing a plucky
action, still our hero rather objected, on the whole, to be made a hero
of.

He was glad when the interview was over and he was permitted to take
his leave with a letter from Mr. Atherton in his pocket addressed to
“William Atherton,--Wall Street,” accompanied with instructions to
present same immediately.

It was a vastly different boy that walked across the Brooklyn bridge
about eleven o’clock from the one who a couple of hours before had
crossed the river on the Fulton Ferry.

His thrilling adventure, with its attendant results, had left an
indelible mark upon him.

He seemed to have grown older and more manly all at once.

Not only that, but was now assured of a position--and a good one, at
that--in a section of the city and a business he had more than once
regarded with envy.

“Won’t mother and sis be glad when I go home and tell them,” he
mused as he stepped out with unusual vigor and glanced around on the
promenade with eyes that fairly brimmed over with happiness. “Yes; I
feel I’ve got the chance of my life, and if I don’t improve it, my name
isn’t Jack Hazard.”

He found ---- Wall Street without any trouble, and he saw that the
offices of William Atherton were on the second floor.

“Is Mr. Atherton in?” he inquired of a clerk.

“Yes; but he is engaged at present. What is your business with him?”

“Please give him this letter.”

“Any answer?” asked the clerk as he took it.

“I guess so,” replied Jack.

“Take a seat,” said the clerk, brusquely, and walked away.

In a moment or two Jack was requested to walk into the private
office, and there found himself face to face with a well-built,
florid-complexioned man of perhaps forty, who pointed to a chair
alongside his desk and then regarded the boy keenly for a moment or two
before he spoke.

“I see you have rendered our family a special service, young man,” said
William Atherton, in a genial way. “I should be glad if you would give
me the particulars, as I am naturally very much interested.”

Jack with all due modesty related in as few words as possible how he
had saved the life of little Fanny Bruce.

“You certainly deserve every word my father has said about you in his
letter. To his gratitude I will now add mine--that ought to cover both
our sentiments fully. And now I understand you wish to enter this
office as a messenger.”

“I hope you will give me trial,” said Jack, earnestly.

“Undoubtedly. You are recommended by my father, and what little I know
about you pleases me. You look to be apt and bright. Are you well
acquainted with the lower part of the city?”

“Yes, sir.”

“With whom were you last employed?”

Jack told him, and said he could refer to the members of the late firm.

“It is scarcely necessary under the circumstances. Just write your full
name and address on that pad. Thank you. That will be all. Your wages
will be seven dollars to commence with, and I shall advance you as
circumstances permit. You can start in to-morrow morning. The hours are
nine to five. Report to Mr. Bishop.”

When Jack left the office he was the happiest boy in New York.



CHAPTER IV.

HOW JACK PROPOSES TO RAISE THE RENT MONEY.


Jack was quite unprepared for the shock that awaited him when he
reached home early that afternoon in high spirits.

“Mother,” he cried, dashing impetuously into the room where Mrs. Hazard
was assisting her daughter with her work, “what do you think? I’ve got
a dandy place in Wall Street, and I’m to get seven dollars to commence
with. Why, what’s the matter?” He stopped suddenly and regarded them
with some surprise. “You’ve both been crying. What’s up?”

“We’ve met with a terrible misfortune, John,” replied his mother.

“Why, what has happened?” and the boy sat down with a shade of
apprehension in his face.

“The money we had for the rent----” began Mrs. Hazard, slowly.

“Well?”

“It’s gone.”

“Gone!” gasped Jack.

“We think it was taken by somebody,” put in Annie, sorrowfully.

“You don’t mean that!”

A few words of explanation made him as wise on the subject as they were
themselves, and the boy looked down ruefully at the carpet.

“So you think Maggie McFadden may have taken it?” he said, presently.

“There was nobody else in here to-day,” said Annie.

“As you didn’t actually see her take it, of course we can’t accuse her.
She must have found out that you kept money in that drawer and made
up her mind to steal it at the first chance. She must have been pretty
slick to get away with it right under your nose. Well, it’s pretty
tough. I never thought much of the McFaddens. Maggie isn’t my style
of a girl, and Denny, her brother, hangs ’round with a crowd that I
wouldn’t think of associating with. He blows in most of his wages on
horse-racing. Well, mother, how are we going to pay the rent?”

“That’s what worries me. The agent was here and was much put out
because I could not pay him. He has allowed me three days to get the
money together again. If the rent is not paid by Friday he told me we’d
have to move.”

“Gee! This is simply fierce! And to think that everything looked so
bright to me a while ago!”

“If I only knew where I could borrow fifteen dollars, we could pay it
back in a little while, now that you have secured a position,” said
Mrs. Hazard.

“You got the situation through one of the ‘World’ ads, didn’t you,
John?” asked his sister.

“No, sis; and you could never guess how I did get it. They don’t often
advertise those kind of jobs.”

“Dear me,” said Annie, curiously, “do tell us how you got it, then.”

“Why, John,” interrupted his mother, in a tone of great surprise,
“where on earth did you get those clothes? I didn’t notice them till
this moment,” and she came over and examined his new suit closely.
“Why, it looks like an expensive suit!”

“I guess it is, mother,” laughed Jack. “It was one of the best in the
store.”

“Oh, Jack,” cried his sister, eagerly, “do tell us how you came to get
it. Where are the clothes you had on this morning when you left home?”

“I expect they will be delivered here some time to-day. The fact of the
matter is, I took a hasty bath in the East River.”

“John,” gasped his mother, “what are you talking about?”

Whereupon Jack related his exciting experiences of the morning and how
it had led to his getting the position of messenger in Mr. Atherton’s
office.

“Why,” exclaimed his sister, excitedly, “you’ll have your name in the
papers, and everybody will be calling you a hero.”

“I hope they won’t lose any sleep over the matter; I know I sha’n’t.”

“Well, the little girl would have been drowned only for you.”

“I guess she would,” admitted Jack. “I didn’t expect to get anything
for what I did; but all the same, I’m not kicking because I was
presented with a good job. We need the money, sis.”

“When do you begin your duties?”

“To-morrow morning at nine o’clock.”

“And when do you get through?”

“Five o’clock.”

“Dear me, you have bankers’ hours, haven’t you?”

“I’m satisfied.”

“I should think you would be,” smiled his sister. “Now, if we hadn’t
lost the rent money, I think we would all be perfectly happy.”

“I don’t see but that you’ll have to let me pawn a few of your
trinkets, mother. Whatever we’ll lack to make up the full amount I may
be able to borrow from Ed Potter. If he’s got it, he’ll let me have it
right off the reel.”

“I’ve always had a horror for a pawnshop,” said Mrs. Hazard, with a
little shudder. “It brings the realization of one’s circumstances too
much to heart.”

“I know, mother; but I don’t see how we can avoid patronizing the place
under our present emergency. We must have the rent.”

“True,” answered his mother, with a sigh; “but I won’t agree to let you
go there until the last moment.”

That night Jack got three dollars from his friend Ed, and at the same
time told him he had got a situation in Wall Street.

Potter was delighted to hear that his chum had secured such a fine job.

“It’s a great sight better than printing,” he remarked.

“I hear the men in our office every day say the trade is going to the
dogs on account of the machines.”

“How is that?” asked Jack.

“Well, you see, an operator on a Mergenthaler can stack up forty
thousand ems per day and upward, according to the copy and his
expertness, while a hand compositor is lucky to average eight thousand.
So, you see, the piece hands, as they call ’em, aren’t wanted any more.”

“And that has thrown a lot of printers out of work, has it?”

“Rather.”

“And how do they make a living, then?”

“Some of them don’t. However, there’s a relief fund for Union men that
helps ’em out. Many of the old piece hands have turned to be jobbers,
and some of them have got to be proofreaders. I’m getting tired of the
business myself, so if you hear of something that you think I could
tackle, I’m ready to make a change.”

“I’ll keep my eyes open, Ed. I’d like to have you down on Wall Street
with me.”

“Hello, Jack Hazard!” exclaimed another boy, a mutual friend of both,
named Wally Gray, joining them on the corner. “How does your head feel?”

“Why, how should it feel?” asked Jack, in surprise.

“I thought it looked kind of swelled,” grinned Wally.

“What are you giving me?”

“I s’pose you know all about it,” Wally said to Ed.

“About what?”

“Why, Jack, of course.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Hasn’t he told you what he did this morning?”

“Say, Jack,” asked Ed, in a puzzled way, “what is Wally barking about?”

“And you haven’t read to-night’s ‘World’ or ‘Journal’,” continued
Wally, grinning.

“No; I came out a little while ago to get the sporting edition, as I’m
a crank on baseball.”

“Then run over to the stand and buy one, and I’ll show you something
that’ll surprise you. Hold on; you needn’t. Here’s a boy with a bunch
of ’em.”

Ed bought a paper.

Wally grabbed it and presently pointed out an article the nature of
which Jack knew fully, for he had bought an earlier edition of two
afternoon papers for his mother and sister.

It was a pretty correct account of the rescue of little Fanny Bruce,
daughter of George Bruce, of Chicago, and granddaughter of Seymour
Atherton, a retired New York stock broker, who had fallen from a Fulton
ferryboat into the East River, by a lad of eighteen, named Jack Hazard,
who lived at No. 80 ---- Street.

“Gee whiz!” exclaimed Ed, with bulging eyes. “Was that really you?”

Jack grinned.

“You never said a word to me about it, and we’ve been standing here
half an hour,” said Potter, in an injured tone.

“I didn’t feel like blowing my horn on the subject, and I knew you’d
see the account in the paper after you’d gone over the baseball news.”

“Well, I’m blowed if this isn’t a surprise,” said Ed.

“It knocked me all lopsided,” chipped in Wally.

“I s’pose you’ve been interviewed by the reporters like any other great
man?” said Ed, with a chuckle.

“I’ve seen one or two.”

“You ought to make a good thing out of this, Jack. The paper says that
the old gent is a money-bag,” said Ed, with a twinkle in his eye.
“Didn’t he hand you a liberal check?”

“Doesn’t look like it, does it, when I’ve just borrowed three dollars
off you?”

“That’s right; but I s’pose he’ll stump up in a day or so.”

“What for?” demanded Jack, sharply.

“Why, for yanking his granddaughter out of the wet, of course,” grinned
Ed.

“Nonsense! He won’t do anything of the kind.”

“Then he’ll be a mighty mean----”

“Hold on there!” cried Jack. “He’s done all I would accept. He got me
my job, and I’m perfectly satisfied.”

“That’s something, of course; but you’ll have to work for all the money
you’ll get out of that. He might have given you a nice present also.”

“He presented me with a new suit of clothes.”

“What’s that? Didn’t you get your own soaked?”

“Well, I’m not kicking, so I guess we’ll talk about something else.”

A few minutes later the three boys parted company.



CHAPTER V.

HOW JACK ADDS ANOTHER FEATHER TO HIS CAP.


Next morning Jack appeared at Mr. William Atherton’s office a few
minutes before nine o’clock, ready for business.

Mr. Bishop hadn’t arrived, so the boy took a seat in the outer office
and waited for him.

He came about ten minutes later, and Jack reported to him as he had
been told to do.

The manager looked him over attentively and seemed to be pleased with
his looks.

“Well, Jack,” said Mr. Bishop, “Mr. Atherton has spoken to me about
you. You seem to be a smart boy, and that is what we want here. You
appear to have acquired something of a reputation for nerve and
cool-headedness for one so young. You have made good friends for
yourself by your courageous act of yesterday, which, I see, is reported
in the morning papers. It remains for you now to justify the excellent
opinion they have formed of you. Now, as to your immediate duties, you
will, for the rest of the week, assist our messenger, whose place you
have been employed to fill. He will leave on Saturday. I presume you
are tolerably acquainted with the financial district.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Jack, respectfully.

“Very good. Now come inside, and I will make you acquainted with the
boy you are to succeed.”

Frank Simpson, the messenger, was perched on a high stool at a desk,
sorting over a pile of papers for the head clerk.

He was a pleasant-featured boy of fifteen and appeared to be glad to
know his successor.

“Where have you been working?” he asked Jack.

“I was employed by Hogg & Newman, in Stone Street, but the firm went up
a couple of weeks ago.”

“Never worked in Wall Street, then?”

“No.”

“Well, you’ve struck a dandy place when you caught on here. How did you
come to get the tip?”

Evidently Simpson hadn’t read about Jack’s adventure in the papers.

“Mr. Seymour Atherton sent me here.”

“Oh, I see; you are acquainted with the old gent.”

Jack nodded, but did not mention how that acquaintance came about.

“Then I guess you’re solid, all right,” added Simpson. “There, I’m
through now. Come outside.”

The two boys walked into the outer office and took possession of a
couple of chairs in a corner.

“This is your post. When the boss or the manager wants you he taps a
bell and you answer it--see?”

Jack understood, and an instant later Mr. Bishop’s bell sounded.

“I’ll take the call,” said Simpson, skipping over to the manager’s
private office.

He was back in a moment.

“You’re to deliver this envelope at the address, on Exchange Place, and
wait for an answer. I’m off for the Seaman’s Bank.”

The boys seized their hats, descended the stairs together with a hop,
skip and a jump, and parted at the door.

Jack turned down Broad Street, crossed over, passed the Stock
Exchange, and hastened along until he came to Exchange Place, a narrow
thoroughfare, more like a lane than a street, which was somewhat
gloomy even on the brightest days because of the tall buildings that
fringed both sides.

He easily found the number he wanted, took an elevator, and was carried
to the top floor.

“Number Ninety-six, to your left,” said the elevator man as Jack
stepped out into the corridor.

Numberless doors, the upper part of which were fitted with frosted
glass bearing the name of a firm, stared the boy in the face as he
hurried forward and turned down a shorter corridor to the left as he
had been directed to do.

No. 96 was at the extreme end of the corridor facing him, so he had
nothing to do but walk straight ahead, turn the handle of the door and
enter.

He delivered the envelope to a dudish-looking clerk and then flopped
down on a cane chair.

At that moment there was a sudden commotion in the private office of
the firm.

All the clerks looked up in a startled way as a man’s voice exclaimed,
in hoarse accents:

“I tell you I’m utterly ruined! I can’t deliver that stock by noon, and
since you refuse to let up on me, Hartz, there’s nothing left for me to
do but this----”

“You’re crazy, man--put down that revolver!” in lower but not less
excited tones.

The words were followed by the noise of a struggle in the private
office.

A heavy chair was overturned, and then the second voice cried, “Help!”

Every one of the clerks dropped his pen and started for the little
door marked “Private,” but before one could reach it the door flew
open with a bang, and a big man, wild-eyed and disheveled, appeared,
struggling to shake off the hold of a smaller man with a sharp cast of
countenance, who had a firm grip on his right arm, in the hand of which
was grasped a cocked revolver.

“I tell you I will do it!” cried the large man, in frenzied tones,
making a violent effort to free himself.

He swung Hartz, who was the head of the firm that occupied the offices,
around as if he had been a feather, flooring three of the clerks, who
went down like so many cornstalks before the sweep of the old-time
scythe.

And Hartz, losing his grip, went on top of them.

The big man, then rushing clear of the group, raised the revolver to
his head.

But Jack, who had jumped to his feet at the commencement of the rumpus,
divining his intention, cleared the rail at a bound and grabbed his arm
just as he pulled the trigger.

The sharp explosion mingled with the splintering of glass as the bullet
grazed the would-be suicide’s temple and crashed through the window
pane fronting on Exchange Place.

Partly stunned, the desperate man staggered forward two or three feet
and then sank down, while Jack succeeded in wrenching the pistol from
his relaxed fingers.

By this time Mr. Hartz and his clerks had picked themselves up and were
looking with blanched faces at the fallen visitor, down whose pale
countenance trickled a thin stream of blood, from which they seemed to
infer that the big man had succeeded in destroying himself.

The shot had aroused all the offices along the corridor, and brokers,
clerks, visitors, and others came rushing out.

Nobody knew exactly whence the report had come, but somebody opened
Hartz’s door and looked in, and he saw enough to satisfy him of the
true state of affairs.

Others crowded in after him, and soon the intelligence flew through the
building that a man had committed suicide in Broker Hartz’s office.

“Gentlemen! Gentlemen!” cried Hartz, waving his arms. “Please don’t
crowd in here. Schultz,” to a clerk, “telephone to the precinct station
for an officer and a doctor. Gentlemen, I beg of you to stand back.”

Jack, kneeling beside the big man, wiped the blood away from the scalp
wound.

“He’ll be all right in a minute or two,” said the boy to the excited
broker, who seemed to have lost his head over the affair.

“He didn’t kill himself, eh?” said Hartz, in shaky tones.

“No; I grabbed the revolver in the nick of time.”

“Where did the bullet go?”

“It smashed one of your window panes.”

“What have you done with the revolver?”

“I’ve got it in my pocket.”

“You’d better let me have it before he revives.”

“He’s coming to now,” said Jack, handing the weapon to the broker, who
rushed into his private office and hid it.

The big man, whose name Jack had found out was Oliver Bird, recovered
his senses and looked blankly around as if he didn’t comprehend what
had happened to him or where he was.

“How do you feel now, sir?” asked Jack, assisting him to rise.

“Feel? Why, what’s the matter with me? I didn’t have a fit, did I?”

The boy didn’t feel like making an explanation, for he knew the man
would realize the situation in a moment.

“Let me assist you into the private office, sir,” he suggested,
thinking it well that Mr. Bird should be removed from the curious gaze
and remarks of the outsiders who blocked up the space outside the
railing.

Oliver Bird made no objection to this, but as soon as his eyes fell on
the face of Mr. Hartz everything came back to him like a flash.

He glared at the broker, and for a moment it looked to Jack as if there
was going to be trouble.

Hartz, however, staved it off by saying, quickly:

“Sit down, Mr. Bird, and we’ll talk the matter over again. I’ve decided
to let you have twenty-four hours in which to settle up.”

As Bird sank into the chair, apparently pacified, Jack retired and shut
the door.

“You’ve got something going back to Atherton’s, haven’t you?” he said
to the dude clerk.

“Upon my word, I don’t know what I did with that envelope you brought.
This excitement knocked it out of my mind.”

“I think it’s sticking out of your pocket,” said Jack, with a grin.

“Bless me! So it is. Just wait a moment.” And he rushed over to the
head bookkeeper, who, with the cashier, was trying to induce the mob to
leave.

Jack had to wait several minutes before another envelope was handed to
him to take back.

While he was waiting for it several of the clerks gathered about him,
complimented him on his nerve and presence of mind, and asked him his
name.

On his way to the elevator he passed an officer and a man in plain
clothes, aiming for Hartz’s office.

“Gee!” he said to himself, “I guess it’s a mighty lucky thing for Bird
I was on hand. He evidently meant to put that bullet into his brains.”



CHAPTER VI.

WHAT JACK PICKED UP ON WALL STREET.


“Hello! What kept you so long?” exclaimed Frank Simpson when Jack
entered the outer office on his return from his Exchange Place errand.

“There was a little excitement over at Hartz’s office that tangled
everybody up. I’ll tell you about it in a moment.” And Jack steered
himself into the manager’s office, delivered the envelope, and
explained the cause of the delay.

“What! Oliver Bird tried to blow his brains out in Hartz’s office, eh?
I heard he was one of the shorts that were badly squeezed yesterday in
D. P. & Q. stock,” said Mr. Bishop. “How did the affair end?”

Jack explained as modestly as possible the hand he had had in the
matter.

“Upon my word, you saved the man’s life, then. Why, Bird is a big,
strong man, and he must have been half crazy at the time. How did you
manage to do it?”

“I made a jump and grabbed his hand just as he pulled the trigger.
That’s all I know about it.”

“Your presence of mind prevented a sad tragedy. Bird is a good fellow,
and it is evident Hartz turned the screws on him down to the last
notch. Nothing short of absolute ruin would cause Oliver to lose his
head. The fact that he had a revolver shows that he went to Hartz in a
desperate frame of mind. It seems to me, young man,” added Mr. Bishop,
with a smile, “that you are determined to keep your name before the
public. If you are not interviewed by a reporter inside of thirty
minutes I shall be much surprised.”

“Say, Jack, you’re a wonder!” exclaimed Frank Simpson, after the new
messenger had narrated to him the affair at Hartz’s office. “I’ve just
been reading the account in the ‘Herald’ of how you saved the boss’s
niece, Fanny, from drowning in the East River. All the clerks are
talking about you. Gee! I wish I had your nerve!”

But the two boys hadn’t much time for talking.

Business was beginning to rush on Wall Street.

Simpson was presently sent on an errand down Broad Street, and shortly
afterward Jack was sent to the New Street entrance of the Stock
Exchange with an envelope for Mr. Atherton, who was busy on the floor.

It was several minutes before he was able to reach Mr. Atherton, and
during that interval the boy gazed upon the tumultuous scene before him
with something like wonder, for it was new to him.

The crowd of brokers was divided into a dozen or more groups, more or
less clearly defined, shrinking or increasing in size from time to
time as the excitement grew or waned around that particular bone of
contention.

And the roar and hubbub flowed and ebbed in like manner in different
sections of the Exchange floor.

“I’ll sell a thousand at eighty-six and an eighth!” shouted Mr.
Atherton.

At this, half a dozen clamorous hands were raised and shaken at him
furiously.

“Any part of a thousand at eighty-six,” continued the broker.

At this, Jack saw Hartz break into the circle with his hand upraised
and a wild Comanche yell.

Atherton said something, and both men made entries on their tablets.

Shortly afterward Mr. Atherton withdrew from the bunch, and then Jack
saw his opportunity to deliver his message.

He received several slips in return, with orders to hurry back to the
office.

Simpson was out, and he had no chance this time to warm the seat of the
chair, for Mr. Bishop sent him out again immediately.

And he was kept on the go with scarcely a chance to swallow a cup of
coffee and eat a sandwich, until after the Exchange closed, at three
o’clock.

“Mr. Bird has been here inquiring for you, Jack,” said Mr. Bishop, as
the lad laid the firm’s bank-book on his desk after making the day’s
deposit. “He wants to see you at his office. You had better run over
now.”

“All right, sir.” And the lad passed out into the street again.

As he approached the entrance of a certain prominent trust company he
noticed a large envelope lying on the pavement.

Three or four persons passed it by, and one of them actually trod on it.

It looked as though it had been discarded by some one, and Jack, whose
first idea had been to pick it up, felt ashamed to touch it lest some
of the kids coming along should give him the laugh.

He was about to pass it when a D. T. messenger, rushing out of the
trust company, gave it a kick, sending it flying against Jack’s feet,
and then the boy concluded to examine it, for the way it had flown
through the air showed it to be at least a bit weightier than an empty
envelope.

And it was, for a fact.

As Jack hurried on, he counted six one-thousand-dollar, one
five-hundred-dollar, and two one-hundred-dollar bank-notes. And that
was all. No memorandum, and no name or address either inside or outside.

“Gee whiz!” he exclaimed. “Sixty seven hundred dollars, and no clue to
the owner! And to think I’d have passed it by like a score of other
people have done, if it hadn’t been for that little messenger kid
kicking it almost into my hands. Who does it belong to? Some fellows
might say--and Denny McFadden is one of that kind--that findings is
keepings, but I’m not built that way. I’ll hand it over to Mr. Bishop,
and perhaps he will hear of the party that lost it. At any rate, it
doesn’t belong to me, and I have no right to keep it.”

Jack, who had been brought up to regard honesty as the best policy,
stowed the envelope away in an inside pocket of his jacket, and then
mounted the stairs leading to Oliver Bird’s office.

The boy was admitted to Mr. Bird’s inner sanctum, and the big broker no
sooner recognized him than he jumped up from his desk, and, seizing him
by both hands, shook them warmly.

“By George! I don’t know how to thank you for saving my life this
morning,” he said, in a voice that quivered with emotion. “I certainly
was not in my right senses at the time, and but for your quickness and
nerve I would have been a corpse a moment later. Think what a shock
you have saved my family! Young man, I shall be grateful to you all my
life.”

And while he spoke he held on to the boy’s hands.

“All I can say, Mr. Bird, is that I am glad I happened to be on hand,”
said Jack, frankly. “I hope you won’t worry about what you owe me. I’d
have done the same thing for anyone else under the same circumstances.”

“But I shall worry about it, young man, until I have done something for
you to show my gratitude.”

“I don’t want you to do anything for me, sir. I’m perfectly satisfied
with knowing that I saved you from doing a rash act.”

“But that won’t satisfy me.”

Jack was silent.

“Mr. Bishop told me that you are the boy who saved Mr. Atherton’s
little niece from drowning yesterday morning. Most of the brokers have
read about it in the papers this morning, and I have heard a score of
them talking about you. And now this crazy act of mine is printed in
all the afternoon editions, and I’ll bet if there is one there are a
hundred men about the Street who are trying to get a chance to see what
sort of a boy you look like. Nobody seems to know you as yet. How long
have you been working for Atherton?”

“This is my first day,” replied Jack.

“Well, I thought you were new down here, else I had probably seen you
before. I asked Hartz and his chief clerk about you, but they could
tell me nothing more than that you came there from Atherton’s, and that
was the only way I located you. Now I want you to call at my house
to-night; will you? My wife will certainly insist on seeing you.”

“All right,” said Jack, who felt that it wouldn’t be polite to refuse
the broker’s request.

“I’ll try and call about eight o’clock,” said the boy, cheerfully.

“I shall expect you,” said Mr. Bird, shaking him again warmly by the
hand as Jack bade him good-bye and left.

On his return to the office Jack asked Mr. Bishop if he could see him
for a moment.

“Certainly,” replied the manager.

“I wish to put this in your hands till it is claimed by the rightful
owner,” said the boy, handing Mr. Bishop the envelope with its precious
contents.

“Why, where did you pick it up?” asked the astonished manager after he
had counted the bills.

“On Wall Street, this side of the Blank Trust Company.”

Mr. Bishop looked at him earnestly.

“I don’t want any greater evidence than this that you are a thoroughly
honest lad,” he said, emphatically. “Mr. Atherton will be greatly
pleased to hear of this. It would certainly be a great temptation for
many boys, and for that matter, many men, to hold on to this money and
say nothing about it--the more especially as there is nothing either
on or inside the envelope to identify the owner. I will be glad to
attend to the matter. As the amount is a large one, it will probably be
advertised for at once. Whatever reward is offered, it will of course
be quite right for you to accept.”

Mr. Bishop deposited the envelope, just as it was, in the office safe,
and soon afterward the office closed for the day, and Jack started to
walk uptown, stopping on Vandewater Street for his chum, Ed Potter, who
got away at 5:30.



CHAPTER VII.

IN WHICH JACK RESTORES THE OBLONG YELLOW ENVELOPE AND ITS CONTENTS TO
ITS OWNER.


Of course Jack had a budget of interesting news to tell his mother and
sister at the supper table that night.

“Oh, Jack! How could you do it?” exclaimed Annie when he described how
he grabbed the loaded revolver just as Oliver Bird fired it.

“Well, sis, I never stopped to consider why I did it--the whole thing
was over in a moment.”

“And you actually saved the man’s life?”

“Mr. Bird is sure of it, and that’s the way the evening papers put it,
so----”

“What! Is it printed in the paper? Let me see,” cried his sister,
excitedly.

Jack pointed out the article to her, and she began to read it with a
great deal of interest.

“But that isn’t all that happened to me,” grinned the lad, with his
mouth full of Irish stew.

“I should think that was enough for one day, John,” said his mother,
smiling.

“I found an envelope with a wad of money in it.”

“Jack Hazard, you don’t mean it!” cried Annie, dropping the paper at
this startling bit of intelligence.

“I don’t usually say what I don’t mean, sis.”

“You really and truly did find some money? How much?”

“You promise you won’t faint?”

“What nonsense!”

“Mr. Bishop and myself both counted it. It amounted to sixty seven
hundred dollars.”

Mother and daughter both held up their hands in amazement.

“Why, that’s a fortune!”

“It would be to us; but probably the man who lost it considers such an
amount a mere bagatelle.”

“Did you find the owner?”

“No; there was nothing in the envelope to identify the person to whom
the money belonged. Mr. Bishop says we may expect to see it advertised
for, probably to-morrow morning.”

“Surely you will get something for returning the money,” said his
sister.

“I shall be satisfied if I get fifteen dollars, so mother can pay the
agent Friday.”

“You ought to get a great deal more than that. A good many people would
keep that money, had they found it in the way you did. You ought to get
at least one hundred dollars.”

“Well, if I’m offered a hundred I sha’n’t refuse it, sis. You and
mother need a new dress each, and I should like to get them for you.”

“It’s very like you, Jack, to think of us first; but we’ll talk about
all that when we see what you do realize out of your find.”

“All right,” said Jack, helping himself to another hot biscuit.

“The whole neighborhood is talking about you, Jack,” said his sister.
“More than a dozen people whom we never saw before were in here to-day
talking to mother and saying ever so many flattering things about you.
Now, when they read to-night’s paper I’m afraid we shall have another
crowd to-morrow. Why, you’ll be considered a regular hero.”

“I’d like it better if they wouldn’t interest themselves so much with
our affairs, sis,” said Jack, in a tone of annoyance. “They wouldn’t
make themselves so prominent if we were dispossessed because we
couldn’t pay our rent.”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to submit with the best grace we can. It is one
of the penalties of newspaper notoriety.”

After supper Jack started to walk uptown to No. ---- East Sixty-second
Street, as he didn’t feel that he could afford carfare.

He reached Mr. Bird’s residence, a four-story brownstone front, a
little after eight o’clock.

He was very kindly received by the broker and his family, who regarded
him as the savior of the household.

He spent a very pleasant hour, and when he insisted that it was
time for him to go Mrs. Bird stepped up and presented him with a
very handsome little gold watch and chain as a small token of their
gratitude and esteem.

Jack was very much surprised, not expecting anything of the kind, and
for the first time in his life he was at a loss how to suitably express
himself.

The very first thing Jack did next morning when he reached the office
was to look over the “Lost and Found” column in the “Herald,” but he
failed to find anything having reference to the money he had found.

“Hello!” exclaimed Frank Simpson, who sat beside him, reading the
‘World.’ “Say, this is pretty tough!”

“What’s tough?” asked Jack, without looking up.

“Why, here’s a story about a woman who lost a big wad of money
yesterday.”

“What’s that?” asked Jack, with sudden interest.

“She and her husband had been saving up and pinching themselves for
the last twenty years to save enough money to buy a house where they
could spend their old age in security and comfort. They did buy a
house, but the city took it on a valuation because it stood in the way
of the new bridge, and they received sixty seven hundred dollars. They
left this money with the Blank Trust Company, on Wall Street. After
looking around some time, they bought another house, and yesterday the
woman drew the money from the trust company to pay for it and for the
new furniture and other things they wanted; but when she got home she
found that she had lost the envelope containing the money somewhere
on the street, but just where she has no idea. She’s about crazy over
her loss. Gee whiz! If that isn’t hard luck, I don’t know what is,”
concluded young Simpson, emphatically.

“Where does she live?” asked Jack, in a tone of great excitement.

“It’s down here somewhere,” answered Frank, looking over the article.
“Here it is, No. ---- Prescott Street, Bronx.”

“Let me have the paper,” cried Jack, grabbing it eagerly.

He glanced over the article with feverish interest; then he rushed into
Mr. Bishop’s office and pointed it out to that gentleman.

“I guess there’s no doubt but this woman is the person who lost the
very money that you picked up yesterday. The amount, as well as other
particulars, corresponds. Go around to the Blank Trust Company and have
them describe the woman and the notes they paid her. The cashier will
probably have a memorandum of the banks that issued the large notes,
at any rate. If the list corresponds with those in the envelope in
the safe, you had better take the package up to the address given in
the ‘World,’ and if the woman can describe the money with reasonable
accuracy and her description coincides with that furnished by the trust
company, you will be pretty safe in restoring to her the sum she lost.
I am very glad, for the poor woman’s sake, that you were the one who
found her money.”

Jack followed the manager’s suggestions, and the result was that they
were both satisfied they had located the rightful owner of the $6,700.

“Start right up there now, Jack, and get back as soon as you can,”
said Mr. Bishop. “The cashier will hand you the carfare.”

It was something over an hour before Jack reached the address printed
by the ‘World’--a small, two-story, frame building, one of a row of
six, on a side street off Westchester Avenue.

He rang the bell and a boy answered, holding the door partly ajar.

“I should like to see Mrs. Breeze,” said Jack, in a business-like way.

“Are you a reporter?” asked the boy, doubtfully.

“Well, hardly,” grinned the young messenger. “I’m from Wall Street.”

“Who are you talking to, Bobbie?” asked a woman’s voice rather
petulantly.

“There’s a boy here from Wall Street who says he wants to see you,”
answered the young hopeful.

“What does he want?”

“What do you want?” repeated the lad.

“I want to see Mrs. Breeze in reference to the money she lost.”

“Let him come in,” and Jack was admitted.

A sad-faced woman of fifty, with her eyes swollen from weeping, made
her appearance from a back room.

“Has any trace been found of my money?” asked the woman, with
suppressed eagerness.

“If you will describe the notes as well as you can remember them, I
will be able to answer you,” said Jack, who saw that Mrs. Breeze’s
personal description exactly corresponded with that furnished by the
trust company.

“The six one-thousand-dollar bills were new, but I didn’t notice the
name of the bank either on them or on the other notes, one of which was
a five-hundred-dollar and the other two one-hundred. I had them in a
large, oblong envelope. That is all I can say about them.”

“I think you have described them correctly,” said Jack, producing the
envelope he had picked up. “Is this your property?”

The woman pounced on the envelope like a hawk, opened the flap, took
out the money and counted it with eager eyes; then, satisfied that it
was all there, restored to her in the most wonderful manner after she
had given it up for lost, she sank back in her chair and began to cry
convulsively.

After a moment or two she recovered her composure and inquired of Jack
how the money had been found.

He told her how he had picked it up close to the entrance of the trust
company.

She had drawn the money at two o’clock, and Jack had found it close on
to four.

It seemed incredible that an envelope containing such a large sum of
money could have laid on the sidewalk of a prominent thoroughfare like
Wall Street, glanced at and walked over by many people, and yet no one
had had the curiosity to pick it up.

“What is your name?” asked Mrs. Breeze.

“Jack Hazard, madam.”

“You are an honest boy. I am sure you have a good mother and that
she is very proud of you. This money you have returned to me is the
savings of our entire life. I don’t like to think what the result might
have been if it had been lost for good and all. As testimony of our
gratitude I want you to accept these two bills,” and she offered Jack
the two hundred-dollar notes.

“No, ma’am,” said the boy. “I couldn’t think of taking so much money
from you.”

“But you must, or you will take away half the pleasure I feel at the
recovery of my money. Really, it is a great deal less than you really
deserve. I insist that you accept them,” said Mrs. Breeze firmly,
forcing the bills into his hand.

Jack saw she was intensely earnest in her demand, and with some
reluctance he put them in his pocket.

“I am very happy indeed that you have got your money back,” he said as
he rose to go.

“I feel like another woman to what I did before you came here. Be sure
I shall not soon forget the honest lad to whom I am indebted for its
recovery,” were her last words as Jack ran down the steps after bidding
her good-bye.



CHAPTER VIII.

A DERELICT OF WALL STREET.


On his way back to the office Jack stopped at the Seaman’s Bank, on
the corner of Wall and Pearl Streets, and opened a personal account
for $150. The balance of the $200 he had received from Mrs. Breeze
he handed over to his mother when he got home that night. You may be
sure there was great joy in that little household over this unexpected
windfall, and now the future looked very bright for them indeed.

On Saturday afternoon Frank Simpson severed his connection with Mr.
Atherton’s office, and the two boys parted in an especially cordial way.

Nothing of any moment occurred during the next three or four months to
interrupt the regular routine of Jack’s duties.

He and his chum, Ed Potter, both had the Saturday half-holiday during
the summer, and they put it in mostly playing ball up at the Olympic
Field.

One day Jack learned that Hartz’s messenger was about to leave him,
so he called on the broker and asked him if he would give his friend
Potter a trial.

Hartz, who had a good opinion of Hazard, readily agreed to oblige him,
so next day Ed came down to Wall Street and Jack introduced him to
Hartz.

In a day or so, Potter was taken into Hartz’s office on trial, and,
proving satisfactory, was told that he would be advanced, if he
deserved it, when the opportunity presented itself.

Everybody who ran across Jack Hazard liked him.

This was especially true in respect to those in the office with whom
the boy came into daily contact.

From Mr. Atherton himself down to the least important clerk it was all
the same.

It is possible, if there was any choice in that matter, Jack liked
Millie Price, the stenographer and typewriter better than anyone else.

Most everyone said she was a pretty girl, and what everybody generally
says goes.

She was certainly attractive in her manners, vivacious in her talk, and
generally polite and agreeable in her deportment.

She was a smart worker, was well up in her business, and had the
confidence of the firm.

“She has a level head and doesn’t put on any airs,” said Jack to his
friend Ed one day when he was speaking about her.

“I s’pose she gets good pay,” remarked Potter.

“I believe she gets twelve dollars. She lives in Brooklyn with her
mother, who is a widow, and I guess all the money they have is what she
makes.”

“She isn’t the only girl that supports her home.”

“That’s right,” nodded Jack, and then they began to talk of something
else.

Next day Jack happened to be over at Hartz’s office on business for
his firm when a seedy-looking old man, with a dissipated and dejected
aspect, shuffled into the place.

“I want to see Mr. Hartz,” he said in a trembling voice.

“Mr. Hartz is engaged,” replied the clerk, turning away.

Just then Hartz came out of his private room, and the visitor motioned
to him in an eager sort of way.

“Well,” said the broker, coldly, as he stepped up to the railing, “your
account is closed, Mr. Tuggs. We sent you a notice and, as you didn’t
respond, had to close you out at twenty-two, with a balance against
you. Jenkins,” addressing his head bookkeeper, “prepare a statement of
Mr. Tuggs’ account and hand it to me with notice of sale. Sit down,
Mr. Tuggs. Statement ready presently,” and Mr. Hartz re-entered his
sanctum, while the customer, with a gesture of despair, tottered over
to the indicator and examined it with hungry eyes.

Jack had overheard it all, and he watched this old derelict of Wall
Street with sympathetic eyes.

“Who is he?” he inquired of the clerk who had brought him the envelope
he was to take back to Atherton’s.

“Whom do you mean? Oh, Tuggs?” and the dapper clerk laughed sneeringly.
“He’s got to be a regular nuisance round here, and we’re trying to get
rid of him. He was rich once--a retired manufacturer, I think, who
caught the Wall Street fever. Hartz has always been his broker, and I
guess has sheared him down to his last dollar. At any rate, he used
to shovel the dough in at a comfortable rate, but somehow or another
he was nearly always on the wrong side of the market, and of late his
investments haven’t amounted to shucks. Besides, he’s taken to drinking
and has grown so disreputable in his looks that the boss doesn’t care
to have him around any more. This last deal of his was two hundred
shares of Lebanon and Jericho, which he bought on a ten-per-cent
margin, as usual, for a rise, and I guess it took his last dollar. It’s
fair stock, but fluctuates a good deal. After he bought it, it went to
thirty-six, when he should have sold out. But he didn’t; expected it
would go higher, of course, like all the lambs. Then it began to drop,
and ever since it’s been below thirty-two he’s been on the anxious
seat,” with a grin. “He’d drop in a dozen times a day and ask questions
about it. He gave us all a pain; so I guess Hartz thought it was time
to choke him off.”

“He couldn’t close him out unless the stock went down ten per cent,”
said Jack.

“Of course not,” replied the clerk; “but it got pretty close to the
danger mark day before yesterday, and we sent him a demand for more
margin.”

“And he couldn’t produce?”

“He didn’t. Just before the Exchange closed Lebanon and Jericho touched
twenty-two.”

“And Mr. Hartz sold him out?”

“Not at all. Hartz had something else to do than thinking about that
measley little transaction.”

“But I heard him tell the man he had closed him out at twenty-two,”
persisted Jack.

“Well,” said the clerk, with a wink, “there are more ways than one of
killing a cat. The boss saw a chance of getting rid of an undesirable
customer when he noted that the stock had touched twenty-two,
though the last quotation, a few minutes later, was twenty-four and
three-eighths. He simply made an arrangement this morning with another
broker and told Jenkins to make an entry of the transaction as having
occurred yesterday and to report him closed out at twenty-two--see?
That’s done every day,” nodding good-bye to Jack.

The boy understood, and his lip curled at the meanness of the
transaction, for the steal was small.

Not only that, but Jack knew that most reputable brokers, in a case
where a man had been a good customer of the house, would sooner have
strained a point in his favor than have worked the squeeze game against
him.

But Hartz wasn’t accustomed to do business in that way.

“I’m dead sorry for the poor old fellow,” murmured Jack, turning to
leave, just as Jenkins came over and thrust the statement into Tuggs’
trembling fingers.

The old fellow looked at it blankly.

“I believe it’s all a lie,” he said, hoarsely. “I don’t believe Hartz
has sold my stock at all. It touched twenty-two, and he reports it
sold at the lowest price, though it rose immediately to twenty-four
and three-eighths. They credit it on my account at twenty-two, and it
is now thirty, and they steal a profit to themselves of over eight
hundred dollars, and cast me out a beggar. It closed at twenty-two
and three-eighths, and opened at twenty-two and five-eighths. It is
infamous! But what can I do? I am ruined. I am helpless. I am utterly
at the mercy of this man. He is rich with the money he has taken from
fools like me, and yet he will not help me.”

Jack listened to his ravings in silent pity and held the door open for
him to totter out.

Later in the day, just after the Exchange had closed, Jack ran across
Tuggs again on Wall Street, coming out of an office building with a
bundle in his hand.

He looked more despairing than ever, if that could be possible.

He stood for several minutes, looking up and down the thoroughfare as
if not knowing which way to go.

Then he started across the street, staggering like a drunken man, just
as an express wagon came swinging along at a rapid rate.

Jack sprang forward just in the nick of time to save him from being
trampled on by the horses.

“Where in thunder are you going to?” the driver yelled at him in an
angry tone.

Tuggs took no notice of the remark.

Indeed he seemed hardly conscious that he had just escaped a grave
peril.

He stood swaying to and fro in Jack’s grasp like some scarecrow that
had come from a cornfield.

“Let me help you across,” said the boy.

Tuggs looked at him with lack-lustre eyes and stepped out as Jack
pulled him along by the arm.

“Where are you going?” asked Jack, after he had landed him on the
sidewalk.

“I don’t know,” said Tuggs, wearily.

“I guess you’d better go home, hadn’t you?” suggested the young
messenger.

“Home?” muttered the old man, in an absent kind of way.

“Where do you live?” asked Jack, curiously.

The boy had to repeat the question before he learned that Tuggs was
stopping at the Mills House--that haven for derelicts of all ages and
conditions.

“Gee!” thought the young messenger, “if he was a retired manufacturer
once, he’s sunk pretty low. I guess Wall Street has much to answer for.”



CHAPTER IX.

JACK’S FIRST INVESTMENT.


The old man dropped his package on the sidewalk, and the string
becoming undone the contents were spilled out.

Jack stooped down to pick them up and found they were certificates of
some kind of mining stock he had never heard of.

Each one represented 500 shares of the Gopher Gold Mining Company, of
Bullfrog, Nevada.

At the sight of them Tuggs seemed to brighten up a bit.

“Do you want to buy them?” he asked, eagerly.

“What are they worth?” asked Jack, smiling at the idea of a messenger
boy being able to acquire even 500 shares of any reputable mining stock.

“Millions!” exclaimed the old man.

“That settles it,” thought the boy. “He’s crazy, sure.”

“Why don’t you sell them to somebody that’s got the money to pay for
them. You look as if you needed the cash,” said Jack, aloud.

“Nobody will buy them,” replied Tuggs, sadly.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

“They can’t have a market value, then.”

“The company says they’re worth ten cents a share. I paid three cents
for them more than a year ago.”

“Perhaps the company’ll buy them in, then,” suggested Jack.

“I don’t know. Their office is in Denver.”

“Why don’t you write to the company?”

“I want some money now--to-day. I haven’t a cent to pay my room rent or
get something to eat,” wailed the old man.

“Well, here’s a half a dollar for you; that’ll see you through till
to-morrow.”

“You’re very kind. I’m afraid I sha’n’t live long. I’d like to sell you
this stock cheap. There’s five thousand shares, and you can have it for
a hundred dollars, or even fifty, if you haven’t so much as that. Some
day it will be valuable. It’s selling for ten cents a share to-day;
that makes the shares worth five hundred dollars.”

“I’m afraid I can’t buy them,” said Jack, shaking his head.

“It’s a pity,” mumbled Tuggs. “You’re losing the chance of your life.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do for you. Come up to our office and
leave the certificates. I’ll give you a receipt for them. Then I’ll ask
our manager what he thinks they’re worth as a speculation. He knows a
good deal about Western mines. If they’re worth anything, perhaps the
firm will take them off your hands or I can get somebody to buy them.”

Just then Jack spied Oliver Bird coming out of his office.

“Wait a moment,” he said. “Maybe I can find out about them now. Here’s
a broker I’m acquainted with. I’ll let him see them.”

So the messenger boy darted up to Mr. Bird, who was glad to see him and
shook him cordially by the hand.

“I wish you’d tell me, Mr. Bird, if this stock is worth anything,” said
Jack.

The broker took the certificates and glanced at them.

“One of those wild-cat mines advertised in the daily press to catch
fools,” said the gentleman, handing them back.

“Then you wouldn’t advise me to invest fifty dollars in these five
thousand shares?”

“Hardly, Jack. Still, fifty dollars isn’t much to risk, and it is
always possible for one of these mines, which are floated on the
reputation of rich ore leads in their neighborhood, to turn up a
winner. If you can get these shares for fifty dollars and can afford to
invest that amount on a one-hundred-to-one shot, as I should call it,
why, it’s better than many investments I know of.”

“Thank you, sir. They belong to that old man yonder, who has been
ruined on the market. He was rich once, but he caught the Street fever,
and Hartz, on Exchange Place, has been his doctor--I should say,
broker,” grinned the boy.

Bird’s face clouded at the mention of Hartz’s name.

“Hartz is one of the slickest men on the Street,” said Mr. Bird, “and
one of the hardest, too, as I know to my cost. There isn’t a particle
of mercy in his make-up. He’s ruined half a dozen brokers, to my
certain knowledge. If it hadn’t been that my rash attempt on my life
that morning frightened him into making a certain concession, I should
have been down and out. As it is, he didn’t lose anything, and I was
able to weather the storm.”

“I have it from one of Hartz’s clerks that the old man left all his
money at their office. I should think he’d do something for an old
customer who had been so unfortunate.”

“Hartz isn’t built that way,” replied Oliver Bird.

“You don’t think Hartz took an unfair advantage of him right along, do
you?” asked Jack.

“Now you’re treading on delicate ground, young man. But I think I can
answer your question this way: I dare say he had as much show to win
out at Hartz’s as at any other broker’s. No speculator who monkeys with
the stock market has an even show for his money. It isn’t the broker’s
fault; it’s the game he’s up against. The outside public make no money
out of the brokers; the brokers live on the outside public. You simply
bet that a certain stock will go up or down; generally it goes the way
you don’t expect, and there you are.”

“Or you hold on too long,” suggested the boy, who thought he knew why
most of the uninitiated dropped their wealth.

“Of course; but who can guess the right moment to unload, eh, Jack?”

“Well, I feel sorry for the old man. It’s evident he’s seen better
days. I am thinking of taking this stock on the bare chance it may turn
out to be worth something one of these days.”

“Well, that’s your lookout, Jack. I don’t advise you to buy it; but if
you want to take a flyer of that kind, the experience will probably be
worth the price to you. Good-bye. Come up and see us soon.”

“Thank you, I will. Good afternoon, Mr. Bird.”

Then Jack rejoined Tuggs, who during the interval waited for him like a
submissive animal at the command of his master.

“Come with me; I’m going back to our office. I’ll put your stock in the
safe and give you a receipt for it. Come down about noon to-morrow, and
I’ll give you fifty dollars for it.”

Tuggs was satisfied, got his receipt, and left the neighborhood.

Next day Jack bought the stock in regular form.

When he told Mr. Bishop what he had done, that gentleman rather frowned
upon the transaction.

Finally he laughed, and told Jack to write to Denver, enclosing the
numbers of the certificates, and request the secretary of the company
to make the proper transfer on the books of the company.

He did so at the first chance, and went home feeling like a bloated
capitalist on a limited scale.



CHAPTER X.

HOW JACK ACQUIRED INSIDE INFORMATION.


One morning Jack was sent to deliver a package of important papers at
the office of a well-known millionaire capitalist.

Entering the reception-room, he found Hartz and another prominent
broker standing by one of the windows, talking in a low tone together.

They did not notice him right away, and though the boy made no effort
to listen to their conversation, of which he couldn’t hear much any
way, a bit of valuable information came to him quite unexpectedly that
set him thinking very hard as he marched inside to deliver his package
to the capitalist in the private office.

He had heard Hartz and the other broker talking about a certain stock
which they were going to corner.

They had called on the millionaire, expecting to interest him in the
scheme with others whose names were written down on a list referred to
by Hartz during his talk.

Now, many boys wouldn’t have given the matter a second thought, or if
they had, wouldn’t have had the gumption to consider how they might
avail themselves of the knowledge that every broker in the district
would have given his head, so to speak, to have an inkling of.

But Jack Hazard was smarter than a steel trap.

Corners and such things were familiar terms to him.

He hadn’t burnt his fingers in the market as yet.

He was a deal too cautious for that.

But all the same, the fever had been working in his blood, and there
was no telling when it would break out.

He had his own idea about investing in stocks, and had figured the
thing out until his brain sometimes got weary over the work.

Practically he was standing on the brink, like a timid bather on the
seashore, tempted by the sight of the water, but hesitating to make the
first plunge.

And now, like a sudden inspiration, he believed he saw his way to a
good thing.

And it was a good thing, if he only worked it right.

And he thought he knew how to do it.

“What are you thinking about?” asked Millie Price, noticing the
preoccupied air of the boy after he returned from the capitalist’s
office.

“I was thinking how I could make a haul,” said Jack, with a grin of
anticipation.

“Not in stocks, I hope,” said Millie, with some concern, for she had
little faith in Wall Street deals.

“That’s for me to know and you to find out, Millie,” said Jack,
tantalizingly.

“Aren’t you just horrid!” she retorted, with a smile that showed the
young messenger was a prime favorite of hers.

“I hope not. That’s what you said about that dude that was in here
yesterday. I hope you aren’t comparing me with him.”

“The idea! Just as if I would!” she said, tossing her head. “Oh, by
the way; who do you suppose was in here inquiring for you while you
were out?”

“Couldn’t guess, Millie, unless it was the Mayor, who is a particular
friend of mine,” said Jack, with a grin.

“What a ridiculous boy you are! It was Mr. Seymour Atherton.”

“No; is that a fact?” said the boy, with evident interest. “I should
like to have seen him.”

“And he had your little mash with him, too,” said Millie, with a
mischievous smile.

“What’s that? What are you getting off?”

“Don’t you really know who I mean?”

“Of course I don’t. I haven’t any mash unless it’s yourself,” grinned
Jack.

“Haven’t you got a cheek!” laughed the stenographer, blushing. “Well,
then, I’ll tell you who it was. It was Fanny Bruce, and she looked just
too cute for anything.”

“I’d liked to have seen her, too,” said Jack.

“She’s the loveliest little girl, I think, I ever saw,” said Millie,
enthusiastically.

“Hello!” exclaimed Ed Potter, walking in. “What are you two chinning
about? Why don’t you get busy? What am I paying you for?”

“Hello, Ed! What brought you around?”

“My feet. Did you think it was an automobile?”

“Isn’t he funny?” said Millie.

“You must excuse him, Millie; he isn’t responsible at all times.”

“I s’pose you think that’s amusing,” growled Ed.

“Say, Ed, I want to see you a moment,” said Jack, walking over to a
window.

“Well, look at me; I’m on exhibition for the time being,” snickered
Potter.

“Oh, rats! Come over here. I want to talk to you. Got any money you
want to invest?” he asked as Ed approached.

“Sure--seven cents.”

“Stop your fooling. Got ten dollars? If you have, I’ll put you on to a
sure thing.”

“What is it?”

“Buy a couple of shares of L. S. on a ten-per-cent margin. Last
quotation thirty-six.”

“Got a tip?”

“That’s what I have. I’m going down to the Seaman’s to-morrow to draw
my pile. I’ve enough to collar twenty-five shares at that margin.”

“Well, I’ll think about it.”

Next morning L. S. opened at the same figure, and as soon as he got
the chance Jack hied himself to the savings bank, drew his money, and,
dropping in on Oliver Bird, surprised that gentleman by asking him to
buy 25 shares of L. S. for him.

“You ought to know your business, Jack; but it seems to me you’re doing
a foolish thing,” said the broker, warningly.

“That’s where you and I differ at present. Back me for twenty-five
shares more, and I’ll let you in on the ground floor.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Bird, curiously.

“Will you stand for the twenty-five if I tell you?”

“Certainly, if you’re determined to make the plunge; but remember, I
strongly advise you against it. I owe you a good turn, and I’ll back
you for fifty, so take your money away.”

“That isn’t business, Mr. Bird. I won’t accept any favors in this deal.
I come to you same as I would to any broker. I’ll sell you a share in
my tip for a ten-per-cent margin on twenty-five shares of L. S. And if
you consider the tip worth it, I want you to deal with me same as you
would with anyone else.”

“Well, what’s your tip, Jack?” asked the broker, smiling doubtfully.

“Hartz and Bradshaw are getting up a corner to boost L. S.”

“How do you know that?” asked Bird, sharply.

Jack told him what he had overheard the two men say at the capitalist’s
office the day before.

Mr. Bird considered a moment.

“I don’t mind admitting that your information is valuable, and I’m
going to look into it. If I find from indications that are bound to
show themselves in a day or two that a pool has apparently been formed,
I’ll stake you for one hundred shares; the tip is worth that easily.”

“All right! Much obliged,” said the boy, joyfully. “That’s business,
and my hundred dollars will give me twenty-five shares more. But you
must let me use my own judgment about selling out.”

“You’d better let me attend to that, Jack.”

“Thanks; but I’ve got my own idea. I’d like to feel independent in the
matter. I’ve been studying the market for some time, and if you can
shear me of the little wool I’ve got, you’re welcome to do so.”

“I shouldn’t want to do that, Jack,” laughed the broker.

“And I don’t propose to give you the chance to do it,” grinned the boy.

“You’re a case, young man. Drop in and see me in a day or two.”

“All right, sir.” And Jack took his leave, feeling that at last he was
getting to be of some importance in the Street.



CHAPTER XI.

THE GREATEST SCARE OF HIS LIFE.


When the Exchange closed that afternoon L. S. was quoted at 36⅛.

It opened at the same figure on the following morning, and when
business was over for the day Jack’s eager eyes noticed that it had
advanced only one-half a point.

Next day it opened at 37, and during the morning the young speculator
managed to drop in on Oliver Bird.

“Come inside,” said his friend, the broker. “I want to see you.”

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.

Twice Jack had received a hint from Mr. Bird--the last a strong one. He
considered them and then decided to hold on a while longer.

“Say, Jack, what’s the matter with you; you’re as nervous as an old
woman,” said Ed as they were on their way home on the afternoon of the
day the stock touched 76.

“Am I?” returned the lad, with a queer sort of laugh. “I didn’t notice
it.”

“Sure you are. What’s up? You aren’t thinking of running off with
Millie Price and getting married, are you?” jokingly.

“Hardly, old man.”

“Haven’t been robbing the office safe with a view of emigrating to
Canada?”

“Not much chance for that,” with what was intended to be a cheerful
grin.

“Then what’s troubling you?”

“Is my hair turning gray?”

“I haven’t noticed that it is,” said Potter, in some surprise. “Why?”

“I didn’t know but that it was, you seemed so concerned about me.”

“Stop your jollying. You’re different to what you were a week ago, and
that’s enough to show that you’ve got something on your mind. Ain’t I
your friend?”

“Certainly.”

“Then you oughtn’t to keep me in the dark.”

“I won’t--after to-morrow.”

“Why not now?”

“Because I’ve particular reasons.”

Ed was by no means satisfied with this answer, but he had to let it go
at that.

Jack’s mother and sister had also noticed and remarked on the change
that had come over him, but to all their anxious inquiries he refused
to admit that there was anything the matter with him.

That evening he spent studying the market quotations for the past week
and figuring upon the chances of L. S. going higher.

Finally the big broker’s warning that at any moment he might expect to
be lost in the shuffle if he tempted fortune too far decided his course
of action for the next day.

“I’ll order Mr. Bird to sell first thing in the morning,” he said to
himself.

Once he had reached a decision, the matter was settled for good and all.

Notwithstanding that fact, his dreams that night were enough to set his
hair on end.

Nevertheless he was perfectly cool and collected next morning when he
reached the office and exchanged the usual greetings with Millie Price.

“I’ve never seen you look so much like a little man of business as you
do to-day, Jack,” laughed Millie.

“And I’ve never seen you look half so pretty as you do this morning,”
responded the lad, gallantly.

Millie blushed to the eyes.

“Really, you’re too complimentary for anything,” she said as she busied
herself with her machine.

Jack laughed.

“Will you do me a favor?” he asked.

“I should be delighted,” she replied. “What is it?”

“Put a fresh sheet of paper on your machine. I want you to write a note
for me.”

“Certainly. There; now I’m ready for you to dictate.”

“All right. Got the date down?”

“Yes.”

“Then here goes: ‘Mr. Oliver Bird,--Wall Street. Dear Sir--Please close
out my L. S. stock----’”

“Your what?” almost gasped Millie, stopping the machine.

“Please don’t interrupt me, Miss Price,” said Jack, with a sober
countenance, while the girl stared at him with all her eyes.

“Go on,” said Jack. “Stock, I think, was the last word. ‘Stock at the
ruling quotation at once, and oblige yours very truly.’ That’ll do.
I’ll sign it while you are addressing the envelope.”

“Is this one of your jokes, Jack?” asked Millie, handing him the
envelope.

“I’m not in the habit of joking in matters of business,” replied Jack,
with a serio-comic expression.

“Then you really are dabbling in stocks, which you ought not to do,”
said Millie, severely.

“Do you take me for a kid, Miss Price?” asked the boy, trying hard to
suppress a grin.

“‘Miss Price’! Come--I like that!” she exclaimed, flashing a
half-reproachful glance at him.

“I was only teasing you, Millie. Yes; I have been fooling a bit with
the market. Eleven days ago I bought on the usual ten-per-cent margin
one hundred and twenty-five shares of L. S. at thirty-six. I am going
to sell out at once.”

Millie grabbed up that morning’s “Wall Street Indicator” and ran her
eyes down the list of stock quotations.

“Here it is: L. S. closing price, seventy-six. Jack Hazard! You don’t
mean to say----”

The girl stopped through sheer amazement.

“I don’t mean to say what?” laughed Jack.

“That you have one hundred and twenty-five shares.”

“That’s what I have.”

“And you bought in at thirty-six?”

“That’s what I did.”

“Why, that’s a profit of five thousand dollars, you reckless boy!”
gasped Millie, after a rapid mental calculation.

“That’s the way I figured it--if the price doesn’t break before my
broker can sell it this morning.”

“Well!”

That’s all she said, for just then Mr. Bishop came in; but the
exclamation spoke volumes.

“I should like to go out five minutes on a little matter of business,
Mr. Bishop,” said Jack, and on receiving the desired permission, he
rushed down to Bird’s office and handed in the envelope, which he had
marked “Important.”

It was half-past ten when the young messenger returned to the office
from his first errand.

“Mr. Bishop wants you,” said the bookkeeper.

The manager was dictating to Millie.

“Take this note----” began Mr. Bishop to Jack.

“Mr. Warren wishes to see you, sir,” interrupted a clerk at that
juncture.

“Tell him to step right in.”

Mr. Warren, one of the firm’s largest customers, walked into the
private office hurriedly.

“Say, Bishop, I just got out in time, didn’t I? L. S. has gone to
pieces, and the Exchange is in a panic.”

Millie, with a startled look, glanced at Jack.

The boy had turned as white as a ghost.

“You’re wanted at the ’phone, Hazard,” said another clerk, poking his
head inside the sanctum.

“May I----” began the boy, in a shaky voice.

“Certainly; answer it,” said the manager, without looking up.

“Poor boy,” murmured Millie as Jack almost staggered out of the private
office. “I feel so sorry for him,” and she looked as if she wanted to
cry.

“What’s the matter with your messenger?” asked Mr. Warren.

“Nothing that I know of,” replied Mr. Bishop, in surprise. “Why?”

“Why, he looked as if he was going to faint just now.”

“I didn’t observe it; maybe he’s sick. He didn’t say anything about
feeling bad. So the bottom has fallen out of L. S., eh?”

In the meantime Jack reached the ’phone and grasped the receiver in a
mechanical way.

“Well?” he shouted, hoarsely.

“That you, Jack?”

“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.

When he got back, the first thing he did was to tell of his good luck
to Millie.

And wasn’t she glad?

Well, don’t say a word!

She had been fearing the worst and sympathizing with him in her mind,
and after all it had been a false alarm.

“What are you going to do with so much money?” she asked, with a smile.

“I haven’t decided whether I’ll buy a farm or start a bank,” replied
Jack, with a happy grin.

“What a comparison!” laughed the pretty stenographer.

A little while afterward he told Mr. Bishop, and the manager was amazed.

“You’re a lucky boy, Jack; but don’t try it again.”

Late in the afternoon he went around to Bird’s office.

The big broker was in and expecting a visit from him.

“It’s better to be born lucky than rich, young man,” he said, genially.
“Do you know, if you had allowed yourself to get caught in that deal I
should have been tempted to have given you a dressing-down. As it was,
you took altogether too many chances. You only escaped by the skin of
your teeth. Why, I got rid of my holdings at sixty-nine two days ago,
and I was half tempted to sell you out at the same time. Only, you see,
that isn’t according to Hoyle.”

“I’m glad you didn’t treat me like a kid--for that is what it would
have amounted to if you had used your own judgment against my orders.”

“I’m glad myself, seeing how the thing has turned out. I’ll send you a
statement and a certified check to-morrow.”

“Don’t forget to deduct your regular commissions,” said Jack, promptly.

“All right,” replied the broker, who understood the boy thoroughly.

“I wish I was of age,” said Jack, wistfully.

“Why so?”

“Because then I could sign checks and not have to draw my money
personally whenever I wanted to use it. It would save me lots of time.”

“I hope you aren’t thinking of making a practice of this sort of thing.
If you are, you’ll make a mistake. The best thing that could happen to
people who come into Wall Street is to lose their first deal. It might
serve to scare them off for good.”

“Your advice is good, Mr. Bird, and I am much obliged to you for it;
but if I see another good thing going to waste I should feel sorry to
let it get away from me.”

“Good things are not handed out to the public, Jack. You came by the
L. S. tip through sheer horse luck--a chance in a million.”

Jack made no answer to that, but took his leave soon, after promising
to dine with Mr. Bird the next evening at Sherry’s.

On the way back to the office our young messenger boy bought a nice
bunch of violets, which he artfully attached to Millie’s Remington
while she was taking down the final dictation of the day in Mr.
Atherton’s room.

“Where did these come from?” she asked Jack, who was perched over in
the corner, reading a copy of that week’s “Financial Chronicle,” as she
reseated herself at the machine.

The sly puss knew pretty well who had bought them, but that was one of
her little coquetries.

“I think it was that dude that was in here the other day that brought
them expressly for you. He works upstairs, you know,” replied Jack,
smothering a grin.

Before she could reply, in walked that self-same dude, Percy
Chamberlain, with a duplicate bunch of violets.

And straightway he pranced up to Millie and held out the flowers, with
a low bow.

“Will you accept these flowers, Miss Price? Bought them expressly for
you, don’t you know.”

Millie was astonished.

“Why, hello, George Augustus Fitzwilliam!” exclaimed Jack, dropping the
paper and gliding over to the dude clerk, whose left hand he seized and
shook as if he were some long-lost friend. “We haven’t seen you for two
whole days. Where have you been keeping yourself?”

Percy, who was a tall, thin, good-looking Englishman, one of the clerks
of the British & North American Fire Insurance Company, with offices on
the third floor of the building, gave a howl of pain and then hopped
about the floor like a monkey on a hot stove.

“What do you mean, fellow, squeezing my--aw--hand in this mannah? Don’t
you know any bettah?”

Percy was very angry indeed.

“What do you want me to do? Give you one of those pumphandle shakes?
That isn’t my style, George Augustus,” snickered Jack.

“I wish you would keep your distance, boy,” said Percy, resentfully.
“I don’t wish to be bothered by you, don’t you know. You’re only the
office boy. Really, Miss Price,” he said stooping to pick up the
violets he had dropped, “these American boys are deuced annoying,
don’t you know. These flowers are for you. Hot-house specials, from
Hutchins’,” mentioning a prominent florist on Broadway.

“Gee!” exclaimed Jack, who had been watching his chance to chip in
again, “I’m sorry to call you a liar, George Augustus, but you bought
’em off that dago down stairs. That’s where these came from, and if
there’s any difference between ’em I’d like you to point it out. Same
trade-mark on each,” and he pointed to the bit of red cord with which
each bunch was secured.

“One bunch is quite enough for me,” said Millie, with a laugh. “If
you’d come first, Mr. Chamberlain, why, I might have accepted yours.”

“Really----” began Percy.

“Come, George Augustus, you’d better sneak. Miss Price has several
letters to copy, and she wants to get home some time this afternoon,
don’t you know,” mimicking the Englishman.

“Won’t you accept them, Miss Price,” persisted Percy, after an
indignant look at Hazard.

“You will have to excuse me, Mr. Chamberlain,” said Millie, turning to
her machine and commencing to click off her notes, thereby ignoring the
dudish visitor.

“Good-bye, George Augustus,” cried Jack, as the disappointed Englishman
started slowly for the door. “Come in again when you haven’t so long to
stay.”

“You’re an insulting fellow. I don’t wish you to notice me again,”
angrily retorted the insurance clerk just as he was passing out of the
doorway.

“It was very kind of you to bring me those violets,” said Millie to
Jack as the door closed. “It’s my favorite flower.”

“You see, I’m getting reckless now; I’ve money to burn,” laughed the
boy. “Next thing you know, I’ll be asking you to marry me.”

“You silly boy!” exclaimed Millie, blushing furiously as Jack ran away.



CHAPTER XIII.

SILAS HOCKINS, FROM AVALANCH, N. J.


A few days after that, as Jack was coming out of the Post Office, he
was stopped by a sun-burned, countrified-looking man, who said:

“Waal, sonny, kin yeou tell me where Nassau Street is?”

“Sure; come right along with me and I’ll steer you into it,” replied
the boy, good-naturedly.

But before the countryman could take a step, a dark-featured man,
dressed in a checked suit, with a Brazilian sunstone in a gaudy scarf,
and a strong odor of the Tenderloin about him, stepped up and, grasping
the farmer by the hand, exclaimed:

“Why, how do you do, Silas Hockins? When did you come to town?”

“Waal, naow, yeou seem tew know me, mister, but I’m gosh-darned ef I
kin place yeou fur a cent,” answered Farmer Hockins, in a puzzled way.

“Why, I was down in your neighborhood all last summer. Avalanch, New
Jersey, is where you live, isn’t it?”

“Waal, naow, I expect yeou’re right there, mister; but I don’t
recollect yeou, just the same.”

“My name is Bond--Steve Bond.”

Silas Hockins shook his head, while Jack Hazard, who stood a few feet
away, sized the other stranger up for a confidence man.

He was certain of it a moment later when the farmer said:

“Seems yeou’re the second one thet’s stopped me sence I landed from the
ferryboat. The other chap thought he knowed me, too; but when he found
out my name was Silas Hockins and thet I lived in Avalanch, New Jersey,
why, he ’pologized and went off. He thought I was Josh Whitcomb, from
Newark. Haw, haw, haw!”

“You mustn’t mind that, Hockins,” said the man, with a crafty smile.
“We New Yorkers are mighty glad to meet our friends from the country,
and we always do the right thing by ’em.”

“Waal, naow, yeou don’t say!”

“Say,” put in Jack at this point, “I’m waiting for you. You want to
find Nassau Street, don’t you?”

“Never mind, young man; you can run along. I’ll take charge of Mr.
Hockins and show him all that’s to be seen.”

The New Jerseyman seemed undecided what to do, seeing which, Jack
decided to block the sharper’s game.

“Look here,” he said, in a low voice; “I’m dead on to you. There’s a
cop across the street. If you don’t take a glide, I’ll run over and
give him the tip-off.”

The sharper saw that his game was up.

“I sha’n’t forget you, young man, if I ever come across you again,” he
said, angrily, as he turned and walked away without another word to the
countryman.

“I reckon he don’t know me arter all,” remarked Mr. Hockins, taking a
fresh hold on his carpetbag as the man from the Tenderloin faded around
the corner of the Post Office. “Still, he seemed to hev my name and
whar I cum from right pat.”

“He didn’t know you at all. That fellow was a confidence man.” And
as Silas Hockins followed across the street into Ann Street, the boy
explained the old threadbare game to him.

“Waal, naow, yeou’re right smart, I reckon, to see through thet chap at
once. I s’pose yeou drink, don’t yeou? A glass of cider would kinder
hit me in the right place,” and Hockins paused in front of a saloon.

“I’ll wait for you, if you don’t linger too long,” answered Jack.

“Ain’t yeou comin’ in?”

The boy shook his head.

“Waal, I won’t be more’n a minit.”

Jack glanced over a cheap lot of books on a vendor’s cart drawn up
alongside the narrow walk until Silas Hockins reappeared.

“This is Nassau Street,” said Jack, after they had walked a short
block. “Where did you want to go?”

“Waal, I’ll tell yeou. I want tew get tew Wall Street, and Dominie
Hudson, of our town, told me ef I found Nassau Street I could walk
right into it.”

“He told you right. Come along; I’ll take you there.”

“Be yeou goin’ thet way, then?”

“Sure; that’s where I work.”

“Sho! Yeou don’t say! Maybe yeou kin tell me where I kin find some of
them thar bulls and bears what folks talk about.”

“You want to visit the Stock Exchange. I’ll get you an admission ticket
from my boss.”

“Will yeou? That’s kind of yeou.”

“Where do you expect to stop while you’re in town?” asked Jack,
thinking he might direct Mr. Hockins to a cheap but respectable hotel.

“Waal, I’ll tell yeou. I’m goin’ over to Brooklyn to try and hunt up a
niece of mine I hain’t seen sense she was married, nigh on to twenty
year ago. Her name was Sarah Dusenbury, but she married a Price. She’s
got a grown-up darter thet works one of them highfalutin writin’
machines like this,” and Mr. Hockins dropped his bag and proceeded to
give a comical illustration of how one clicks the keys of a typewriter.

“Her name isn’t Millie Price, is it?” exclaimed Jack, with some
interest.

“Why, haow did yeou guess thet? Thet’s the gal’s name, sure.”

“Would you know her if you saw her?”

“Waal, no, seein’ ez I hain’t never seen her in my life. She’s a good
gal, I’ve heerd, and I’ve concluded to do somethin’ fer her and her
mother. I’ve saved a leetle somethin’ sence I took ter farmin’, an’ ez
I hain’t got no one but my niece to leave it to, I’ve come on tew hunt
her up.”

“You’d better come to the office with me. Our stenographer is named
Millie Price, and perhaps she’s your relative.”

“Waal, it won’t dew no harm tew see the gal. She kin tell ef her ma’s
name is Sarah Dusenbury Price and ef she wuz born daown East in the
same taown I hailed from, and sich like.”

So Jack piloted Silas Hockins into Atherton’s office.

Then he rushed up to Millie.

“Was your mother’s name Sarah Dusenbury before she married Mr. Price?”

“Yes,” replied the girl, opening her eyes very wide indeed. “How did
you come to find that out, Jack?”

“I met a relative of yours, Silas Hockins, and brought him here. He’s
in the reception-room. He wants to find where you live. Hadn’t you
better see him?”

“I’ve often heard mother speak of her uncle Silas, but I’ve never seen
him nor has he ever seen me.”

“Well, Millie, I think he’s a good thing to freeze to, as he told me
he has money and calculates on doing the right thing by you and your
mother. If I were you, I’d steer him right over to your home. Mr.
Bishop will let you off, I guess. Go out and see him now. And don’t
ever say I didn’t do you a good turn.”

Millie had no trouble in identifying herself to Mr. Hockins’
satisfaction.

She got leave of absence for the rest of the afternoon, and took Silas
home with her.

As Jack had figured, Mr. Hockins’ arrival proved a good thing in the
end for both Mrs. Price and her daughter Millie.



CHAPTER XIV.

A POINTER--WORTH WHAT?


“I wish I had half your luck, Jack,” said Ed one morning shortly after
the young messenger had scooped in that $5,000 on L. S. stock.

“I suppose you are referring to what I made the other day.”

“Yes; and I can’t see how you did it.”

“I’m not surprised. I gave you the tip to buy as many shares as you
could put up the margin for. Did you do it? No; you were afraid to risk
even a ten-dollar note on a good thing. Well, you lost your chance.”

“I lost more than that,” said Ed, with a mournful look.

“What did you lose?”

“Fifteen plunks.”

“In what way?”

“Well, after you told me you had collared five thousand dollars on L.
S. I went home and kicked myself around the block.”

“That was right. You deserved it. If you’d only bought two shares of L.
S. as I told you to at first, you might have made seventy-five dollars
clear profit.”

“That’s what I said to myself. I felt I’d been a chump. You made a
bunch of easy money while I hadn’t made a sou. Well, along came Denny
McFadden, and I told him what a calf I’d been. He asked me if I had any
money. I told him I had fifteen dollars. Then he offered to put me next
to something that beat stocks all hollow. I knew what he meant, and
fought shy. But he talked me into going around to a certain pool-room
with him, just to see how the thing was worked.”

“You needn’t go any further, Ed,” said Jack. “I know what you’re going
to say. Denny got you to wager your fifteen dollars on some horse
before you left. Isn’t that it?”

“Yes; I put the whole thing on Custard Pie, a long shot, one hundred
to one. Denny said he had a tip that the nag was slated to win next
day. He’d been over at the track and claimed he knew all about it.
It was the same as picking up the money, and when I got the fifteen
hundred I was to give him five hundred for the tip.”

“Ed, you’re easy. I thought you knew what Denny is by this time. As
for racing, don’t you know that race-tracks are open gambling-places,
maintained in defiance of the State Constitution because of a law
passed corruptly?”

“I know pool-rooms are maintained in defiance of the law, but at the
tracks you can bet all you want. I don’t see why----”

“I’m not going to argue the matter, Ed. I’m interested in the stock
market, not in the race-track. Now, I’ll tell you what I’ll do for
you the next time I catch on to a good thing: I’ll put up twenty-five
dollars for you in connection with my own venture. That’ll give you a
small stake if I win.”

“If you do that, Jack, you’re a brick,” said Ed, brightening up.

“I’ll do it, all right.” And there the matter dropped for the time
being.

In spite of the well-meant advice of Oliver Bird and Mr. Bishop, Jack
was itching another crack at the market.

All the same, it wasn’t his idea to go at the thing blindfolded.

He hardly expected to pick up another tip like the last.

Still, he kept his eyes and ears wide open, so that in case anything
worth while drifted his way it wouldn’t get by him.

Any small favor would be thankfully received.

He was on speaking terms with a good many brokers, and he knew every
prominent one by sight.

Next day Jack was coming along New Street about lunch hour, when he ran
into Hartz, the Exchange Place broker.

Hartz was a little, wiry man, with snappy black eyes, and was about as
shrewd as you find them down in the financial district.

Ever since the day Jack saved Oliver Bird from taking his own life in
the office of the broker, Hartz had taken more or less notice of the
boy, which was something unusual for him to do.

As we have already seen, he gave Ed Potter a job entirely on Jack’s
recommendation.

“Hello, young man! Who are you running into?” exclaimed the broker,
grabbing the boy with both his arms and holding him tight.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Hartz, but I didn’t see you.”

“No; I’m not quite as big as Bird,” grinned Hartz. “How long have you
been on the Street now, Hazard?”

“Six months, sir.”

“Look as if you’d cut your eye teeth by this time. It’s a wonder you
don’t get into trouble with that tongue of yours.”

“Why so?” asked Jack, in surprise.

“Yesterday morning, when you came into my office, young Percy
Chamberlain, secretary for the resident manager of the British and
North American Fire Insurance Company, was there talking to Miss
Kitson, my stenographer. Just as you stepped up to her desk he remarked
that he was the last remaining member of his family, whereupon you said
you read in the morning paper that the lobster was becoming extinct.
And I suppose you wondered why Chamberlain left the office in a huff.
You’re a peach!”

Jack grinned.

“Percy makes me tired,” he said. “He’s always dropping in and bothering
our typewriter with his silly remarks, so I make a point of giving a
shot where I can.”

There was a twinkle in Hartz’s eye.

“Ever take a flyer on the market?” he asked, suddenly.

“Once.”

“When was that?”

“Couple of weeks ago.”

“How did you come out?”

“Ahead.”

“Lucky boy.”

“I s’pose you haven’t any tips to give away, have you, Mr. Hartz?”
grinned Jack. “You owe me one for saving that carpet of yours the day
Mr. Bird got reckless.”

“Don’t carry such things about with me,” said Hartz, in his sharp,
off-hand way. Then, after fixing the boy with his penetrating eyes a
moment, he suddenly said: “If you’ve got twenty-five or fifty dollars
you haven’t any use for, you might buy a few shares of D. & G. just to
keep your thoughts off Percy Chamberlain,” and the broker nodded and
walked away.

Jack looked after him.

“A few shares of D. & G.,” he muttered. “I wonder if he meant that?
I noticed that stock went up a point yesterday and two points so far
to-day. Looks as if it was a safe investment. I’d give something to
find out if that was the stock I saw him rushing about after this
morning on the floor of the Exchange? It isn’t like him, or any other
broker, for that matter, to give out a real, Simon-pure pointer. It
isn’t business. Still, I notice Hartz treats me different from most
people. Maybe he’s grateful because I saved him from something like
a scandal; at any rate, a good many hard things would have been said
about him if Mr. Bird had killed himself up in his office that morning.
I’ll have to think this over. I guess it wouldn’t be fair to tell
anyone what he said about buying D. & G. He kind of sized me up pretty
sharp before he opened his mouth about it. I know he doesn’t like
Chamberlain coming in his office and taking up Miss Kitson’s time, and
he was tickled because I started the dude on the run. I’d like to make
another haul out of the market. Hartz hasn’t the least idea I have
$5,000 in bank. If he had, I guess----”

“Hello, Jack!” interrupted the voice of Ed Potter, and his chum grasped
him by the arm. “Let’s go in here and have a bite.”

Jack allowed his friend to steer him into a crowded New Street
quick-lunch house.

They ordered coffee and stew as soon as a couple of stools were vacated.

“I s’pose you haven’t the least idea whether or not your boss is
buying any D. & G. stock, have you?” whispered Jack.

Ed shook his head.

“You can’t learn much up in that place, I can tell you that. I know
Hartz did buy a block of some kind of stock yesterday from a Mr.
Warren, for I was sent over to get it.”

“You mean George Warren, of--Broad Street?”

“Yep.”

Jack made a mental note.

“And I fetched another stack of stock this morning from Bentley &
Clews.”

“You don’t know what that was?”

“Nope.”

“Say, Ed, s’pose we take in the Academy to-night,” said Jack, suddenly
changing the subject.

“I’m with you. What’s playing there?”

“‘In Old Japan.’ Well, so long. I’ll wait for you at the house.”



CHAPTER XV.

IN THE GRASP OF THE MARKET.


“Mr. Atherton, do you know if Mr. George Warren has any D. & G. stock?”
asked Jack of his employer that afternoon.

It was a rather cheeky thing for the boy to do, but then he was
something of a privileged character with the boss.

“I believe he has. At least, we bought a block of it for him some time
ago. There’s been an advance in it yesterday and to-day, but I don’t
fancy it will go any higher. Anybody ask you for the information?”
asked Mr. Atherton, pointedly.

“No, sir; I was thinking of buying a few shares myself on margin.”

“Well, I guess Warren will let you have what he has at sixty-two, if
you would like to buy it outright. It’ll cost you about three hundred
and ten thousand dollars cash,” said Mr. Atherton, with an amused smile.

“I don’t think my bank account would stand for that,” answered Jack,
with a grin.

“Seriously, Jack,” said his boss, “I wouldn’t advise you to buy any
stock on margins. I don’t want you to catch the fever. It’s dangerous.
You’ve no idea of the money engaged in productive industry, money
earned by hard years of labor and economy, money held in trust for
widows and orphans, money stolen from banks and corporations, money
abstracted by clerks and office boys, is carried into Wall Street, in
the vain hope of acquiring a sudden fortune, and there remains.”

Mr. Atherton turned to his desk, and Jack went back to his duties,
satisfied he had learned something, at any rate.

“How could I find out if Bentley & Clews have any D. & G. stock?” asked
Jack of Mr. Bishop, at the first opportunity.

“Why do you wish to know?” asked the manager, perhaps a bit sharply,
for the question coming from Jack rather surprised him.

“I have a personal reason for wishing to know,” replied the boy,
respectfully.

Mr. Bishop looked at him a moment or two before he answered.

“I happen to know that Bentley & Clews have no D. & G. stock in their
possession--at least, they didn’t have an hour ago. They delivered a
large block of it this morning to Mr. Hartz--all they had on hand.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Of course, whatever I tell you or you may accidentally learn while in
our employ must go no further. You understand that, I suppose?”

“Certainly, sir.”

That night, before Jack went to the theatre, he had decided to buy as
many shares of D. & G. on a ten-per-cent margin as he could afford.

The bank where Jack had his money on deposit--except $500 with which
he had reopened an account at the Seaman’s Savings--had a department
devoted to the purchase and sale, through outside brokers, of stock for
the accommodation of its customers.

D. & G. opened at 62⅜, and as soon as he got a chance the boy ran
over to the bank, saw Mr. Black, who had charge of the department in
question, and asked him to buy for his account 700 shares of D. & G. at
the ruling figure, provided that in the meantime the stock did not go
above 63.

Mr. Black ’phoned one of their brokers, but it was some little time
before that number of shares was obtained, as it seemed to be scarce
that morning. At any rate, it cost Jack 63, the 700 shares figuring up
$44,100. Ten per cent of the purchase price, or $4,410, Jack drew and
paid to Mr. Black.

When the Exchange closed for the day D. & G. was quoted at 64⅝, and
Jack was therefore something like $1,000 to the good.

“I was up in the Bronx to-day, John, visiting the Deans,” said his
mother, at the supper table. “They have a very nice place there, and
it only cost them about $5,000. I think it would be a good idea if you
went up that way next Sunday and took a look around. There are a lot
of nice houses for sale in that locality. You have some money in bank
now--enough to buy a nice little place. I am sure it would be much
more comfortable to live in our own house and much healthier than to
continue here, where the neighborhood is so crowded. Annie and I were
talking the matter over before you came in. She’d like to go with you,
and I am sure the exercise and fresh air would be good for her.”

“All right, mother,” agreed Jack. “We’ll take Ed along, too.”

“Will you?” said his sister, brightening up.

“Sure. He’ll be glad to go, sis. He thinks there isn’t another girl who
can hold a candle to you.”

“The idea!” said Annie, with a blush.

“Yes, the idea!” he said, mimicking her. “What are you blushing about?”

“Why, I’m not blushing,” she answered, in evident confusion.

“You’re not blushing? I’ll leave it to mother,” said Jack, merrily.

“You mustn’t tease your sister, John.”

“All right,” said Jack, obediently, “if that’s the orders.”

“You’re real mean,” said Annie, with a charming little pout. “Suppose I
was to tease you about Millie Price?”

“Pooh! What about her?”

“Oh, you think I don’t know anything about her. Ed told me lots about
you and her.”

“Did he? Then I’ll murder him; see if I don’t,” cried the boy, shaking
his fist, with mimic ferocity, in the air.

“Ha, ha, ha, ha!” laughed Annie, clapping her hands, gleefully.

“I’m going to bring her up to see you some Sunday,” said Jack.

“That will be real nice,” said Annie, with much interest. “Why not
next Sunday. Bring her to dinner, and then we can all go to the Bronx
together in the afternoon. Mother, make Jack promise to do that.”

“I should be very glad to have her come to dinner, John, if you would
like to have her come.”

“All right, sis; I’ll ask her if she will come. I’ve had the plan in my
head some time, but somehow I never thought to ask you.”

“I don’t believe a word of that, Jack,” said his sister, tantalizingly.
“You were afraid I’d tease you about her. You know you were.”

“Nonsense!” objected the boy, flushing up in his turn.

“Who’s blushing now?” and Annie laughed gleefully.

Jack jumped up and chased his sister several times about the table, but
failed to catch her till she took refuge on the floor beside her mother.

He grabbed her in his arms.

“Now, that’s not fair! Is it, mother?”

Jack’s answer was a rousing kiss.

“You big bear!” she exclaimed, pushing him away, while her eyes fairly
danced with fun.

Jack dreamed that night that his D. & S. stock had gone up out of sight
and that he had made $10,000,000.

For the rest of the week, whenever he had the chance, he kept his
eye on the indicator that ticked out its monotonous song in the
reception-room during business hours, and every day D. & S. advanced,
sometimes with provoking slowness and sometimes with little bounds,
like a boy chasing himself up a flight of stairs.

But the tendency was always upward.

“When will it stop?” mused the lad; “when go the other way? How long
dare I hold on?”

And Millie Price watched his eager attention to that fatal piece of
mechanism with an anxious eye.

She said nothing.

He hadn’t told her he had embarked in the treacherous whirlpool of Wall
Street speculation again, but she knew with the unerring accuracy of
a sympathetic and deeply interested observer experienced in all the
signs that go with the game.

And it worried her--for exactly how much she thought of Jack no one but
herself in this world knew.



CHAPTER XVI.

PLAYING FOR A HIGH STAKE.


“Millie,” said Jack, about Saturday noon, “mother and sister Annie have
heard so much about you from Ed and I that they are very very anxious
to know you. Will you dine with us to-morrow? I will come over to your
house and fetch you.”

Millie blushed a little as she looked at the handsome, stalwart young
messenger, and hesitated what reply to make.

“Well, Millie, is it yes?”

“Yes, but on one condition,” she answered, earnestly.

“All right; what’s the condition?”

“You must answer me one question--truthfully.”

“I agree to that. But do you think I would not answer truthfully any
question you might ask?” he asked, reproachfully.

“No, Jack,” she said, seizing one of his hands; “it isn’t that, but----”

“Well?”

“You may not want to answer this question in the way I wish.”

“Try me and see.”

“I know I have no right to be so inquisitive. It oughtn’t to be any
of my business. I hope you won’t be angry with me. But, Jack, I’m
afraid----”

She stopped, and the boy thought he saw a tear glisten in her eye.

“Promise me that you won’t be provoked with me?” she continued,
impulsively.

“Why, of course I promise you,” he said, greatly curious to learn what
it was that affected her so deeply.

“You have gone into the market again, haven’t you?”

“Why, how did you guess?” he asked in surprise.

“How? There are a dozen signs you have given which are quite plain to
me.”

“Well, I admit the fact.”

“How much of your five thousand dollars have you risked on a margin?”
she continued, with some hesitation.

“How much? Almost the limit.”

“Oh, Jack, I feared as much! You are so enthusiastic--so reckless!”

“I’ll tell you the story and let you judge for yourself.”

And he did.

“Do you really mean that Mr. Hartz gave you that tip?”

“That’s what he did.”

“From what I have heard about him, he’s the very last man in Wall
Street to do such a thing.”

“The smartest men will sometimes make strange breaks, I’ve heard,” said
Jack. “I believe Hartz wanted to do me a favor for that affair of Bird
in his office; but I doubt if he really would have given me such a tip
nine hundred and ninety-nine times of out of a thousand, for business
reasons, you know.”

“You bought seven hundred shares of D. & G. at sixty-three. What is it
to-day?” she asked anxiously.

“Last quotation when the Exchange closed at noon was eighty-one.”

“Eighty-one!” exclaimed Millie. “A gain of eighteen points in less than
six days! Why, you crazy boy, why don’t you sell?”

“Because I expect it will go to ninety--to three figures, for that
matter. Hartz’s corners are almost uniformly successful, I have heard.”

“You foolish boy! They may quietly unload at any moment.”

“I don’t think they will until the stock goes above ninety.”

“Why?” she asked with astonished eyes.

“I couldn’t explain to you, Millie, just why I believe so. I’ve been
studying the ground. I’ve even found out several of the people Hartz
has got in with him. Every one of them can write his check for a
million, lose it, and not miss the loss.”

“Why, how could you get such inside information?”

“Simply by having something definite to start with--that was Hartz--and
then by using my eyes, my ears, and my brains.”

“Jack, you are either a wonder, or----”

She didn’t complete the sentence.

“Or a chump, eh?” he said, with a light laugh. “I intend to hold out
for ninety-two, if the stock goes that high, as I feel sure it will,
and over. That will return me a profit of twenty thousand dollars,
which, added to my original capital, will make me worth twenty-five
thousand dollars.”

“Pretty good for a boy of----”

“I was seventeen three months ago.”

“Well, Jack, I earnestly hope that you will come out all right. But you
are taking a terrible risk, and I shall be nervous till I know you have
won out.”

“It is understood I am to call for you to-morrow, is it?”

“Yes, Jack, it is.”

So Millie went to the Hazard flat next day and was introduced to Jack’s
mother and sister, who were much pleased with her pretty face and sunny
disposition.

Ed came in soon after dinner, and the two boys and the two girls
started up to the Bronx, where they spent a pleasant afternoon,
wandering about with an occasional eye to a desirable vacant house that
had the sign “For Sale” attached.

“This is something like counting one’s chickens before they’re hatched,
isn’t it,” said Jack, after they had inspected one very pretty place
which seemed to answer all expectations. “I like this house; don’t you,
Annie?”

“Very much, indeed.”

“Well, if things continue to come my way, I’ll come up toward the end
of the week, maybe, and put a deposit on it.”

“What’s the matter with doing it to-morrow?” chipped in Ed. “You’ve got
five thousand dollars stowed away in the Citizens’ Bank. What do you
want to wait for?”

Which remark showed that Potter didn’t know everything. In other words,
he didn’t know about his chum’s latest deal in D. & G. For reasons that
he considered good and sufficient Jack had kept that fact from him.

But he intended to keep his word to Ed and give him the profit of three
shares, or what was practically equal to a hundred-dollar note.

On Monday morning D. & G. opened at 81⅜.

From this on, another pair of eager eyes in the office followed the
rise of the syndicate stock.

Millie was almost as excited over it as Jack himself.

It reached and hovered around 90 all day Thursday.

The pretty stenographer was so nervous she could hardly do her work,
and twice she couldn’t refrain from scribbling the words “PLEASE SELL”
in big capital letters on a slip of paper and passing it over to Jack
with beseeching eyes.

But the boy only smiled and never turned a hair.

He had the nerve of the oldest and most successful operator on the
Street.

“It’s ninety-two or bust,” he said to her the last time.

“But, Jack, it seems to be standing still to-day.”

“Only resting to catch its breath for a fresh effort,” grinned the
reckless messenger.

Millie threw up her hands with a little gesture of despair, whereat
Jack laughed and walked off.



CHAPTER XVII.

THE GOPHER MINING COMPANY TURNS UP A TRUMP.


“This is my lucky day,” said Jack to Millie next morning as he stood
in front of her desk while she was taking the japanned case off her
machine.

“What--Friday?”

“Yep.”

“Mother calls it hangman’s day, and superstitious people won’t do lots
of things on that day.”

“Pooh! America was discovered on a Friday; many of our most
distinguished men were born on a Friday, and many famous events
occurred on a Friday. So there you are!”

Jack went to his work, and Millie started to copy several letters from
shorthand notes of the day before.

About this time Mr. Bishop came in, and the first thing he did was to
send Jack with an order to a William Street printer.

When he got back, the cashier handed him a letter addressed to him,
care of the firm, bearing the Denver postmark, which had been delivered
by the postman while he was out.

In one corner was the imprint of the “Gopher Gold Mining Company.”

The boy tore it open and found a brief note and a bank draft.

The latter represented the third annual dividend, this time of three
cents per share, on 5,000 shares, which amounted to $150.

An accompanying printed enclosure intimated that the dividends would
probably hereafter be declared semi-annually, owing to increased output
and superior character of the ore mined.

There was also a notification that the price of shares had been
advanced from 15 to 25 cents, and that only a limited number of shares
would be sold at that figure, the company reserving the right to still
further advance the price without notice.

“Gee!” muttered the boy. “And I only gave that old fellow fifty dollars
for the stock, and here I’ve got back one hundred and fifty already,
while the value the company places on five thousand shares is twelve
hundred and fifty. Maybe I didn’t strike it lucky when I bought those
certificates.”

“There must be something interesting in that letter from the way you
are smiling over it,” said Millie as she passed him on her way back to
her desk.

“Hold on, Millie,” he said, and she stopped to listen to what he had to
say. “Didn’t I tell you this was my lucky day?”

“I think you did,” she answered, with a smile.

“Remember that mining stock I bought some months ago from an old
gentleman by the name of Tuggs?”

She nodded.

“I only gave him fifty dollars for the lot, and now I’ve received my
first dividend of one hundred and fifty, with more to come, and the
company’s estimate of the value of my shares is twelve hundred and
fifty dollars. How’s that for luck?”

Of course, Millie congratulated him; so also did both Mr. Atherton and
Mr. Bishop when they heard about it later on.

So likewise did the other employees when the intelligence reached them,
though no doubt the younger clerks envied him his luck.

Indeed, so elated was Jack over his mining shares that he quite forgot
for a time the much more important subject of the D. & G. stock, which,
however, still clung around the 90 mark as though those figures had
some potent attraction.

When he went to lunch he met Oliver Bird coming out of a Broad Street
cafe.

Of course, he had to tell him about his luck with the Gopher Gold
Mining shares.

“Glad to hear it, Jack,” said the big broker, patting him on the
back. “Nothing succeeds like success, young man. You were successful
in pulling five thousand dollars out of the fire when another and
more experienced person, had he taken the risks you did with that L.
S. stock, would have probably gone up Salt Creek. Had those Gopher
certificates been offered to me on the same terms you gobbled them at,
I shouldn’t have touched them with a ten-foot pole.”

“They were not so wild-catty, after all,” grinned the lad.

“It seems not. You’re a pretty ’cute boy.”

“It isn’t my fault; I must have been born so,” laughed Jack as the
broker gave him another slap on the shoulder and passed on.

“Hello, Mr. Hartz,” to that operator, who came up at that moment. “Seen
Percy Chamberlain to-day?”

The broker’s eyes twinkled, and he shook his head.

“He hasn’t dropped in on our Millie for three whole days,” grinned
Jack. “Must have struck a new mash somewhere. She has my sympathy.
How’s D. & G.?”

“What about it?” asked Hartz, sharply, fixing Jack with his gimlet eyes.

“You’re buying it, aren’t you?”

“Who said so?” demanded the broker, more aggressively than before.

“Nobody that I know of. It just struck me that you were--that’s all,”
said the boy, lightly.

“You must have a reason for mentioning it,” said Hartz, gripping him
tightly by the arm.

“You told me that if I had twenty-five or fifty dollars to spare, to
buy some--on margin, of course.”

“Oh,” said Hartz, letting go of his arm.

“So I went the limit of my little pile,” grinned Jack.

“Then you made a haul?”

“I haven’t sold it yet.”

“You’ve a good nerve,” said Hartz.

“That’s what the dentist told me once when he yanked out a back molar.”

“Better sell to-day,” chuckled Hartz.

“I’ll think about it. Kinder ’fraid I might break the market if I let
it all out at once.”

Hartz punched him in the ribs and passed on.

When Jack got back to the office after lunch he meandered over to the
indicator.

Before he reached it, Millie had him by the arm.

Her eyes were blazing with excitement.

“Sell, Jack; sell! D. & G. has just been quoted at ninety-two.”

“Thanks, Millie,” he said with provoking calmness, picking his teeth
with a quill and looking at her quizzically; “but I guess it’s sold by
this time.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, with wondering eyes.

“Well, you see, when I went out to eat I stopped in at the bank and
told them to close the deal the moment the stock touched my figure.
That puts it up to them, in a way, and of course they notified their
broker to that effect. I guess I’m safe enough now.”

“Oh, Jack, I’m so happy!” was all she could say.



CHAPTER XVIII.

A LUCKY DEAL.


On the following afternoon Jack Hazard met his chum, as usual, at the
corner of Wall Street and Broadway, and the two boys started homeward.

“I believe I owe you something like a hundred dollars,” casually
remarked Jack, putting his hand in his pocket and fishing up a roll of
bills.

“You owe me what?” exclaimed the astonished Ed.

“One hundred dollars,” replied the young messenger, tersely, “and here
it is.”

He held out the bills.

“Oh, come off!” grinned Potter, with an envious glance at the wad.

“Aren’t you going to take ’em?” asked Jack, with a chuckle.

“What’ll I take ’em for? They don’t belong to me.”

“Of course they belong to you. Do you think I’m flinging one hundred
dollars of my money at you?”

“I don’t see how they belong to me.”

“You want to get a new memory or you’ll land in the tureen first thing
you know, Ed Potter. Some little time ago you told me that you had
dropped fifteen dollars on a hundred-to-one shot that Denny McFadden
induced you to go up against.”

“That’s right,” admitted Ed.

“Didn’t I promise you then that I would stake you twenty-five dollars’
worth in the next deal I went into on the market?”

“So you did,” Ed suddenly remembered. “And have you really made another
play in stocks?”

“Yep; been working a deal these two weeks back.”

“Gee! And you never told me.”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“I guess you have.”

“I mean by winning a little stake for you.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Ed.

“I bought seven hundred shares of D. & G. at sixty-three, on the usual
ten-per-cent margin, at the rate of about twenty-five dollars for every
four shares. I held on to the stock till the shares reached ninety-two,
when I got out from under, giving me a profit of twenty-nine dollars
per share. Your four shares figure up, less commissions, about one
hundred dollars. There it is. Don’t handle it so gingerly; it’s good
money. I got it from the Citizens’ Bank.”

“Jack Hazard, you’re a gentleman. But I don’t think I ought to take
it,” said Ed, hesitatingly.

“Why not?”

“It’s just like robbing you.”

“Nonsense! I’ve cleaned up twenty thousand dollars by the deal, so I
guess I can afford to let you in for a measly little hundred.”

“Twenty thousand dollars!” gasped Potter, in amazement.

“Twenty thousand,” repeated Jack.

“And the other five thousand!”

“Makes twenty-five thousand cash in the Citizens’ Bank, payable at any
time on demand, plus five hundred in the Seamen’s Savings, plus one
hundred and fifty, representing a dividend I received yesterday from my
western mining stock, which I deposited in the Emigrant Savings Bank on
Chambers Street.”

“Any more?” asked Ed, in amazement.

“No; that’s all at present. Grand total, twenty-five thousand six
hundred and fifty dollars.”

“Why, you’re a rich man.”

“Excuse me. I’m only seventeen. Won’t be a man for four more years yet.”

“That don’t cut any ice with you. It isn’t the legal limit that
always makes the man,” said Potter sententiously. “I don’t call Percy
Chamberlain a man, and he is over twenty-one.”

“You do me proud, Ed,” said Jack as they turned into East Broadway.

“Don’t mention it. But how did you get the tip this time? Or did you go
it on your own judgment?”

“You’ll never guess who put me on to it.”

“Well, I shan’t try.”

“Hartz.”

“My boss!” in surprise.

Jack nodded.

“But, remember, you mustn’t let on to a living soul.”

Then the boy told his companion the story of his second fortunate deal
on the stock market.

“Some day you’ll be a multi-millionaire, Jack,” said Ed, looking at him
admiringly.

“I hope to keep out of the poorhouse, at any rate.”

“No fear of you going there. I only wish I had your brains and
backbone.”

“You mean you wish you knew how to use the brains and backbone you
possess yourself.”

“Have it any way you like. Suppose you take this hundred and use it for
me when you make your next plunge.”

“I might lose it.”

“I’ll risk that.”

“You’d better talk it over with Annie, and if she says so, I’ll make
you a sort of junior partner.”

“No; will you?” asked Ed, eagerly.

“Of course I will.”

By this time the lads had reached the neighborhood of their homes, and
accordingly separated, Ed promising to come over to Jack’s house next
day.

For many weeks after that the young messenger boy saw no favorable
chance to make another venture on the stock market.

He attended faithfully to his duties and was many times commended by
Mr. Atherton for strict attention to the firm’s interests.

His salary was raised at Christmas, and he received a handsome present
from his boss.

He also received a valuable remembrance from Mr. Seymour Atherton.

Nor was he overlooked by Mr. and Mrs. Bruce, who lived in Chicago, who
also enclosed a ruby ring as a gift from little Fanny.

But the present which gave him the most delight of all, though the
least valuable in a monetary sense, was a pretty leather pocket-book,
with sterling silver trimmings, which came to him from Millie.

What Jack gave her the pretty stenographer showed only to her mother,
and then put it away somewhere among her treasures.

At length Jack Hazard’s eighteenth birthday came around.

He had made a few cautious deals in stocks since the beginning of the
year.

They had been uniformly successful, though they had not netted him any
very considerable profit in proportion to his two former successes.

But he was satisfied, for he had doubled his capital, which was now
over $50,000.

He had also succeeded in putting a couple of thousand dollars into his
friend Potter’s pocket, much to that young man’s great delight, who
expected to marry Jack’s sister in the course of time.

Not only that, but he had used some of Millie’s money to great
advantage.

Her salary was not needed now to run the house, as Silas Hockins had
come to live with them and attended to that.

As we remarked, Jack reached the age of eighteen.

He received the usual congratulations over the event, but he went about
the firm’s business that day just the same as he always did.

He was sitting in his chair in the outside office, waiting to be called
on, when Mr. George Warren entered, in no little excitement.

“Is Mr. Atherton in?” asked the millionaire, eagerly.

“I believe he is,” replied Jack. “I will tell him you are here.”

Mr. Warren was admitted to the inner sanctum immediately.

In five minutes the boss’ bell rang, and Jack went to see what he
wanted.

“Sit down, Jack,” said Mr. Atherton, much to the boy’s surprise.

The young messenger took a vacant chair and wondered what was coming.

“I think you own five thousand shares of the Gopher Gold Mining Company
stock, Jack,” said Mr. Atherton.

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you care to sell it?”

“I haven’t thought about such a thing,” replied the lad, in surprise.

“Mr. Warren wishes to buy some of the stock. He will give you fifty
dollars a share for your little block.”

“What!” gasped Jack. “Fifty dollars?”

“That’s your offer, isn’t it, Mr. Warren?” said the broker, turning to
his customer.

The millionaire nodded.

“Why--why----” was all the boy could say.

“The fact of the matter is, Jack, the Gopher has unexpectedly turned
out to be a bonanza of the richest kind. Information has just come out
this morning that a new lead has been opened up that promises Monte
Cristo results, and the Street is hot on the scent for any stock that
is floating about. Mr. Warren came in here to give me a commission to
get him some of it if I could. I thought of you. The stock isn’t listed
on the Exchange yet, but I understand the application is now before
the Board of Governors, who will act favorably on it. What it will be
quoted at I do not pretend to guess, but Mr. Warren seems willing to
take his chance at fifty. It is up to you whether you will accept or
hold it for a higher figure.”

“What would you advise me to do, Mr. Atherton?”

“I think you had better use your own judgment. I believe you are smart
enough to decide the right way.”

“You can have the stock at fifty, Mr. Warren,” said Jack, after a
moment’s thought.

“All right. Mr. Atherton, I will send you a certified check for two
hundred and fifty thousand dollars, payable to the order of John
Hazard, and you may send the certificates to my office.”

“Allow me to congratulate you, Jack. You fully deserve your good
fortune. That was a lucky deal you made with the old man.”

“Yes, sir. And if I can find him he shall not want for a dollar as long
as he lives,” said the boy, earnestly.

“He’s a fine lad,” remarked Mr. Warren as the young messenger left the
private office.

“Millie,” said Jack, stepping up to her, “I want you to congratulate me
on my lucky deal.”

“I have just sold those five thousand shares of Gopher Gold Mining
Company stock to Mr. Warren.”

“Have you? That’s nice.”

“You don’t ask me how much I got for them,” said the boy, with a
mischievous smile.

“I don’t think I have any right to be so inquisitive, Jack.”

“I hope some day, not so far off, that you will accept the right,
Millie.”

It was a bold speech, and the girl’s face flushed a deep scarlet.

“Aren’t you going to ask me?” he said, almost entreatingly, looking
down at the pretty girl with glistening eyes.

There was a pause; then she looked up and said softly:

“How much, Jack?”

“A quarter of a million,” he replied, exultantly.

She looked dazed.

“You don’t mean it!”

“I’ll show you the check when I get it.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Reader, there is nothing more to be said. Jack got his check that
afternoon, and there was a mild kind of high jinks at the little house
in the Bronx where the Hazard family had been living for some months.
Jack also got Millie Price in due time, and a happier couple does not
to-day live in Greater New York. Jack has a little old gentleman living
with him whom he rescued from the last stages of want at the Mills
Hotel. His name is Tuggs, and Jack and Millie treat him as a valued
friend, and the old man is grateful. That purchase of the Gopher Mining
Company certificates was for Jack Hazard indeed A LUCKY DEAL.


THE END.

       *       *       *       *       *

Read “BORN TO GOOD LUCK; OR, THE BOY WHO SUCCEEDED,” which will be the
next number (2) of “Fame and Fortune Weekly.”



WORK AND WIN.

The Best Weekly Published.

=ALL THE NUMBERS ARE ALWAYS IN PRINT.=

=READ ONE AND YOU WILL READ THEM ALL.=


LATEST ISSUES:

 281 Fred Fearnot’s Boy; or, Selling Tips on Shares.
 282 Fred Fearnot and the Girl Ranch Owner, And How She Held Her Own.
 283 Fred Fearnot’s Newsboy Friend; or, A Hero in Rags.
 284 Fred Fearnot in the Gold Fields; or, Exposing the Claim “Salters.”
 285 Fred Fearnot and the Office Boy; or, Bound to be the Boss.
 286 Fred Fearnot after the Moonshiners; or, The “Bad” Men of Kentucky.
 287 Fred Fearnot and the Little Drummer; or, The Boy who Feared Nobody.
 288 Fred Fearnot and the Broker’s Boy; or, Working the Stock Market.
 289 Fred Fearnot and the Boy Teamster; or, The Lad Who Bluffed Him.
 290 Fred Fearnot and the Magician, and How He Spoiled His Magic.
 291 Fred Fearnot’s Lone Hand; or, Playing a Game to Win.
 292 Fred Fearnot and the Banker’s Clerk; or, Shaking up the Brokers.
 293 Fred Fearnot and the Oil King; or, the Tough Gang of the Wells.
 294 Fred Fearnot’s Wall Street Game; or, Fighting the Bucket Shops.
 295 Fred Fearnot’s Society Circus; or, The Fun that Built a
     School-House.
 296 Fred Fearnot’s Wonderful Courage; or, The Mistake of the Train
     Robber.
 297 Fred Fearnot’s Friend from India, and the Wonderful Things He Did.
 298 Fred Fearnot and the Poor Widow; or, Making a Mean Man Do Right.
 299 Fred Fearnot’s Cowboys; or, Tackling the Ranch Raiders.
 300 Fred Fearnot and the Money Lenders; or, Breaking Up a Swindling
     Gang.
 301 Fred Fearnot’s Gun Club; or, Shooting for a Diamond Cup.
 302 Fred Fearnot and the Braggart; or, Having Fun with an Egotist.
 303 Fred Fearnot’s Fire Brigade; or, Beating the Insurance Frauds.
 304 Fred Fearnot’s Temperance Lectures; or, Fighting Rum and Ruin.
 305 Fred Fearnot and the “Cattle Queen”; or, A Desperate Woman’s Game.
 306 Fred Fearnot and the Boomers; or, The Game that Failed.
 307 Fred Fearnot and the “Tough” Boy; or, Reforming a Vagrant.
 308 Fred Fearnot’s $10,000 Deal; or, Over the Continent on Horseback.
 309 Fred Fearnot and the Lasso Gang; or, Crooked Work on the Ranch.
 310 Fred Fearnot and the Wall Street Broker; or, Helping the Widows
     and Orphans.
 311 Fred Fearnot and the Cow Puncher; or, The Worst Man in Arizona.
 312 Fred Fearnot and the Fortune Teller; or, The Gypsy’s Double Deal.
 313 Fred Fearnot’s Nervy Deal; or, The Unknown Fiend of Wall Street.
 314 Fred Fearnot and “Red Pete”; or, The Wickedest Man in Arizona.
 315 Fred Fearnot and the Magnates; or, How He Bought a Railroad.
 316 Fred Fearnot and “Uncle Pike”; or, A Slick Chap from Warsaw.
 317 Fred Fearnot and His Hindo Friend; or, Saving the Juggler’s Life.
 318 Fred Fearnot and the “Confidence Man”; or, The Grip that Held Him
     Fast.
 319 Fred Fearnot’s Greatest Victory; or, The Longest Purse in Wall
     Street.
 320 Fred Fearnot and the Impostor; or, Unmasking a Dangerous Fraud.
 321 Fred Fearnot in the Wild West; or, The Last Fight of the Bandits.
 322 Fred Fearnot and the Girl Detective; or, Solving a Wall Street
     Mystery.
 323 Fred Fearnot Among the Gold Miners; or, The Fight for a Stolen
     Claim.
 324 Fred Fearnot and the Broker’s Son; or, The Smartest Boy in Wall St.
 325 Fred Fearnot and “Judge Lynch”; or, Chasing the Horse Thieves.
 326 Fred Fearnot and the Bank Messenger; or, The Boy who made a
     Fortune.
 327 Fred Fearnot and the Kentucky Moonshiners; or, The “Bad” Men of
     the Blue Grass Region.
 328 Fred Fearnot and the Boy Acrobat; or, Out With His own Circus.
 329 Fred Fearnot’s Great Crash; or, Losing His Fortune in Wall Street.
 330 Fred Fearnot’s Return to Athletics; or, His Start to Regain a
     Fortune.
 331 Fred Fearnot’s Fencing Team; or, Defeating the “Pride of Old Eli.”
 332 Fred Fearnot’s “Free For All”; or, His Great Indoor Meet.
 333 Fred Fearnot and the Cabin Boy; or, Beating the Steamboat Sharpers.
 334 Fred Fearnot and the Prize-Fighter; or, A Pugilist’s Awful Mistake.
 335 Fred Fearnot’s Office Boy; or, Making Money in Wall Street.
 336 Fred Fearnot as a Fireman; or, The Boy Hero of the Flames.
 337 Fred Fearnot and the Factory Boy; or, The Champion of the Town.
 338 Fred Fearnot and the “Bad Man”; or, The Bluff from Bitter Creek.
 339 Fred Fearnot and the Shop Girl; or, The Plot Against An Orphan.
 340 Fred Fearnot Among the Mexicans; or, Evelyn and the Brigands.
 341 Fred Fearnot and the Boy Engineer; or, Beating the Train Wreckers.
 342 Fred Fearnot and the “Hornets”; or, The League that Sought to Down
     Him.
 343 Fred Fearnot and the Cheeky Dude; or, A Shallow Youth from
     Brooklyn.
 344 Fred Fearnot in a Death Trap; or, Lost in The Mammoth Caves.
 345 Fred Fearnot and the Boy Rancher; or, The Gamest Lad in Texas.
 346 Fred Fearnot and the Stage Driver; or, The Man Who Understood
     Horses.
 347 Fred Fearnot’s Change of Front; or, Staggering the Wall Street
     Brokers.
 348 Fred Fearnot’s New Ranch, And How He and Terry Managed It.
 349 Fred Fearnot and the Lariat Thrower; or, Beating the Champion of
     the West.
 350 Fred Fearnot and the Swindling Trustee; or, Saving a Widow’s Little
     Fortune.
 351 Fred Fearnot and the “Wild” Cowboys, And the Fun He Had With Them.
 352 Fred Fearnot and the “Money Queen”; or, Exposing a Female Sharper.
 353 Fred Fearnot’s Boy Pard; or, Striking it Rich in the Hills.
 354 Fred Fearnot and the Railroad Gang; or, A Desperate Fight for Life.
 355 Fred Fearnot and the Mad Miner; or, The Gold Thieves of the
     Rockies.
 356 Fred Fearnot in Trouble; or, Terry Olcott’s Vow of Vengeance.

For sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt
of price, 5 cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by

 =FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher,=                 =24 Union Square, New York.=


IF YOU WANT ANY BACK NUMBERS

of our Libraries and cannot procure them from newsdealers, they can be
obtained from this office direct. Cut out and fill in the following
Order Blank and send it to us with the price of the books you want and
we will send them to you by return mail.

                              =POSTAGE STAMPS TAKEN THE SAME AS MONEY.=

       *       *       *       *       *

 FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher, 24 Union Square, New York.      ......190
     Dear Sir--Enclosed find......cents for which please send me:
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These Books Tell You Everything!

A COMPLETE SET IS A REGULAR ENCYCLOPEDIA!

Each book consists of sixty-four pages, printed on good paper, in
clear type and neatly bound in an attractive, illustrated cover. Most
of the books are also profusely illustrated, and all of the subjects
treated upon are explained in such a simple manner that any child can
thoroughly understand them. Look over the list as classified and see if
you want to know anything about the subjects mentioned.

THESE BOOKS ARE FOR SALE BY ALL NEWSDEALERS OR WILL BE SENT BY MAIL TO
ANY ADDRESS FROM THIS OFFICE ON RECEIPT OF PRICE, TEN CENTS EACH, OR
ANY THREE BOOKS FOR TWENTY-FIVE CENTS. POSTAGE STAMPS TAKEN THE SAME AS
MONEY. Address FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher, 24 Union Square, N.Y.


MESMERISM.

No. 81. HOW TO MESMERIZE.--Containing the most approved methods of
mesmerism; also how to cure all kinds of diseases by animal magnetism,
or, magnetic healing. By Prof. Leo Hugo Koch, A. C. S., author of “How
to Hypnotize,” etc.


PALMISTRY.

No. 82. HOW TO DO PALMISTRY.--Containing the most approved methods of
reading the lines on the hand, together with a full explanation of
their meaning. Also explaining phrenology, and the key for telling
character by the bumps on the head. By Leo Hugo Koch, A. C. S. Fully
illustrated.


HYPNOTISM.

No. 83. HOW TO HYPNOTIZE.--Containing valuable and instructive
information regarding the science of hypnotism. Also explaining the
most approved methods which are employed by the leading hypnotists of
the world. By Leo Hugo Koch, A. C. S.


SPORTING.

No. 21. HOW TO HUNT AND FISH.--The most complete hunting and fishing
guide ever published. It contains full instructions about guns, hunting
dogs, traps, trapping and fishing, together with descriptions of game
and fish.

No. 26. HOW TO ROW, SAIL AND BUILD A BOAT.--Fully illustrated. Every
boy should know how to row and sail a boat. Full instructions are given
in this little book, together with instructions on swimming and riding,
companion sports to boating.

No. 47. HOW TO BREAK, RIDE AND DRIVE A HORSE.--A complete treatise on
the horse. Describing the most useful horses for business, the best
horses for the road; also valuable recipes for diseases peculiar to the
horse.

No. 48. HOW TO BUILD AND SAIL CANOES.--A handy book for boys,
containing full directions for constructing canoes and the most popular
manner of sailing them. Fully illustrated. By C. Stansfield Hicks.


FORTUNE TELLING.

No. 1. NAPOLEON’S ORACULUM AND DREAM BOOK.--Containing the great
oracle of human destiny; also the true meaning of almost any kind of
dreams, together with charms, ceremonies, and curious games of cards. A
complete book.

No. 23. HOW TO EXPLAIN DREAMS.--Everybody dreams, from the little child
to the aged man and woman. This little book gives the explanation
to all kinds of dreams, together with lucky and unlucky days, and
“Napoleon’s Oraculum,” the book of fate.

No. 28. HOW TO TELL FORTUNES.--Everyone is desirous of knowing what his
future life will bring forth, whether happiness or misery, wealth or
poverty. You can tell by a glance at this little book. Buy one and be
convinced. Tell your own fortune. Tell the fortune of your friends.

No. 76. HOW TO TELL FORTUNES BY THE HAND.--Containing rules for telling
fortunes by the aid of lines of the hand, or the secret of palmistry.
Also the secret of telling future events by aid of moles, marks, scars,
etc. Illustrated. By A. Anderson.


ATHLETIC.

No. 6. HOW TO BECOME AN ATHLETE.--Giving full instruction for the
use of dumb bells, Indian clubs, parallel bars, horizontal bars and
various other methods of developing a good, healthy muscle; containing
over sixty illustrations. Every boy can become strong and healthy by
following the instructions contained in this little book.

No. 10. HOW TO BOX.--The art of self-defense made easy. Containing over
thirty illustrations of guards, blows, and the different positions of a
good boxer. Every boy should obtain one of these useful and instructive
books, as it will teach you how to box without an instructor.

No. 25. HOW TO BECOME A GYMNAST.--Containing full instructions for all
kinds of gymnastic sports and athletic exercises. Embracing thirty-five
illustrations. By Professor W. Macdonald. A handy and useful book.

No. 34. HOW TO FENCE.--Containing full instruction for fencing and
the use of the broadsword; also instruction in archery. Described
with twenty-one practical illustrations, giving the best positions in
fencing. A complete book.


TRICKS WITH CARDS.

No. 51. HOW TO DO TRICKS WITH CARDS.--Containing explanations of the
general principles of sleight-of-hand applicable to card tricks; of
card tricks with ordinary cards, and not requiring sleight-of-hand;
of tricks involving sleight-of-hand, or the use of specially prepared
cards. By Professor Haffner. Illustrated.

No. 72. HOW TO DO SIXTY TRICKS WITH CARDS.--Embracing all of the latest
and most deceptive card tricks, with illustrations. By A. Anderson.

No. 77. HOW TO DO FORTY TRICKS WITH CARDS.--Containing deceptive Card
Tricks as performed by leading conjurors and magicians. Arranged for
home amusement. Fully illustrated.


MAGIC.

No. 2. HOW TO DO TRICKS.--The great book of magic and card tricks,
containing full instruction on all the leading card tricks of the day,
also the most popular magical illusions as performed by our leading
magicians; every boy should obtain a copy of this book, as it will both
amuse and instruct.

No. 22. HOW TO DO SECOND SIGHT.--Heller’s second sight explained by his
former assistant, Fred Hunt, Jr. Explaining how the secret dialogues
were carried on between the magician and the boy on the stage; also
giving all the codes and signals. The only authentic explanation of
second sight.

No. 43. HOW TO BECOME A MAGICIAN.--Containing the grandest assortment
of magical illusions ever placed before the public. Also tricks with
cards, incantations, etc.

No. 68. HOW TO DO CHEMICAL TRICKS.--Containing over one hundred
highly amusing and instructive tricks with chemicals. By A. Anderson.
Handsomely illustrated.

No. 69. HOW TO DO SLEIGHT OF HAND.--Containing over fifty of the latest
and best tricks used by magicians. Also containing the secret of second
sight. Fully illustrated. By A. Anderson.

No. 70. HOW TO MAKE MAGIC TOYS.--Containing full directions for making
Magic Toys and devices of many kinds. By A. Anderson. Fully illustrated.

No. 73. HOW TO DO TRICKS WITH NUMBERS.--Showing many curious tricks
with figures and the magic of numbers. By A. Anderson. Fully
illustrated.

No. 75. HOW TO BECOME A CONJUROR.--Containing tricks with Dominos,
Dice, Cups and Balls, Hats, etc. Embracing thirty-six illustrations. By
A. Anderson.

No. 78. HOW TO DO THE BLACK ART.--Containing a complete description
of the mysteries of Magic and Sleight of Hand, together with many
wonderful experiments. By A. Anderson. Illustrated.


MECHANICAL.

No. 29. HOW TO BECOME AN INVENTOR.--Every boy should know how
inventions originated. This book explains them all, giving examples in
electricity, hydraulics, magnetism, optics, pneumatics, mechanics, etc.
The most instructive book published.

No. 56. HOW TO BECOME AN ENGINEER.--Containing full instructions how
to proceed in order to become a locomotive engineer; also directions
for building a model locomotive; together with a full description of
everything an engineer should know.

No. 57. HOW TO MAKE MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS.--Full directions how to make
a Banjo, Violin, Zither, Æolian Harp, Xylophone and other musical
instruments; together with a brief description of nearly every musical
instrument used in ancient or modern times. Profusely illustrated. By
Algernon S. Fitzgerald, for twenty years bandmaster of the Royal Bengal
Marines.

No. 59. HOW TO MAKE A MAGIC LANTERN.--Containing a description of the
lantern, together with its history and invention. Also full directions
for its use and for painting slides. Handsomely illustrated. By John
Allen.

No. 71. HOW TO DO MECHANICAL TRICKS.--Containing complete instructions
for performing over sixty Mechanical Tricks. By A. Anderson. Fully
Illustrated.


LETTER WRITING.

No. 11. HOW TO WRITE LOVE-LETTERS.--A most complete little book,
containing full directions for writing love-letters, and when to use
them, giving specimen letters for young and old.

No. 12. HOW TO WRITE LETTERS TO LADIES.--Giving complete instructions
for writing letters to ladies on all subjects; also letters of
introduction, notes and requests.

No. 24. HOW TO WRITE LETTERS TO GENTLEMEN.--Containing full directions
for writing to gentlemen on all subjects; also giving sample letters
for instruction.

No. 53. HOW TO WRITE LETTERS.--A wonderful little book, telling you
how to write to your sweetheart, your father, mother, sister, brother,
employer; and, in fact, everybody and anybody you wish to write to.
Every young man and every young lady in the land should have this book.

No. 74. HOW TO WRITE LETTERS CORRECTLY.--Containing full instructions
for writing letters on almost any subject; also rules for punctuation
and composition, with specimen letters.


THE STAGE.

No. 41. THE BOYS OF NEW YORK END MEN’S JOKE BOOK.--Containing a great
variety of the latest jokes used by the most famous end men. No amateur
minstrel is complete without this wonderful little book.

No. 42. THE BOYS OF NEW YORK STUMP SPEAKER.--Containing a varied
assortment of stump speeches, Negro, Dutch and Irish. Also end men’s
jokes. Just the thing for home amusement and amateur shows.

No. 45. THE BOYS OF NEW YORK MINSTREL GUIDE AND JOKE BOOK.--Something
new and very instructive. Every boy should obtain this book, as it
contains full instructions for organizing an amateur minstrel troupe.

No. 65. MULDOON’S JOKES.--This is one of the most original joke books
ever published, and it is brimful of wit and humor. It contains a large
collection of songs, jokes, conundrums, etc., of Terrence Muldoon, the
great wit, humorist, and practical joker of the day. Every boy who can
enjoy a good substantial joke should obtain a copy immediately.

No. 79. HOW TO BECOME AN ACTOR.--Containing complete instructions how
to make up for various characters on the stage; together with the
duties of the Stage Manager, Prompter, Scenic Artist and Property Man.
By a prominent Stage Manager.

No 80. GUS WILLIAMS’ JOKE BOOK.--Containing the latest jokes, anecdotes
and funny stories of this world-renowned and ever popular German
comedian. Sixty-four pages; handsome colored cover containing a
half-tone photo of the author.


HOUSEKEEPING.

No. 16. HOW TO KEEP A WINDOW GARDEN.--Containing full instructions
for constructing a window garden either in town or country, and the
most approved methods for raising beautiful flowers at home. The most
complete book of the kind ever published.

No. 30. HOW TO COOK.--One of the most instructive books on cooking
ever published. It contains recipes for cooking meats, fish, game, and
oysters; also pies, puddings, cakes and all kinds of pastry, and a
grand collection of recipes by one of our most popular cooks.

No. 37. HOW TO KEEP HOUSE.--It contains information for everybody,
boys, girls, men and women; it will teach you how to make almost
anything around the house, such as parlor ornaments, brackets, cements,
Aeolian harps, and bird lime for catching birds.


ELECTRICAL.

No. 46. HOW TO MAKE AND USE ELECTRICITY.--A description of the
wonderful uses of electricity and electro magnetism; together with
full instructions for making Electric Toys, Batteries, etc. By George
Trebel, A. M., M. D. Containing over fifty illustrations.

No. 64. HOW TO MAKE ELECTRICAL MACHINES.--Containing full directions
for making electrical machines, induction coils, dynamos, and many
novel toys to be worked by electricity. By R. A. R. Bennett. Fully
illustrated.

No. 67. HOW TO DO ELECTRICAL TRICKS.--Containing a large collection
of instructive and highly amusing electrical tricks, together with
illustrations. By A. Anderson.


ENTERTAINMENT.

No. 9. HOW TO BECOME A VENTRILOQUIST.--By Harry Kennedy. The secret
given away. Every intelligent boy reading this book of instructions,
by a practical professor (delighting multitudes every night with his
wonderful imitations), can master the art, and create any amount of fun
for himself and friends. It is the greatest book ever published, and
there’s millions (of fun) in it.

No. 20. HOW TO ENTERTAIN AN EVENING PARTY.--A very valuable little
book just published. A complete compendium of games, sports,
card diversions, comic recitations, etc., suitable for parlor or
drawing-room entertainment. It contains more for the money than any
book published.

No. 35. HOW TO PLAY GAMES.--A complete and useful little book,
containing the rules and regulations of billiards, bagatelle,
backgammon, croquet, dominoes, etc.

No. 36. HOW TO SOLVE CONUNDRUMS.--Containing all the leading conundrums
of the day, amusing riddles, curious catches and witty sayings.

No. 52. HOW TO PLAY CARDS.--A complete and handy little book, giving
the rules and full directions for playing Euchre, Cribbage, Casino,
Forty-Five, Rounce, Pedro Sancho, Draw Poker, Auction Pitch, All Fours,
and many other popular games of cards.

No. 66. HOW TO DO PUZZLES.--Containing over three hundred interesting
puzzles and conundrums, with key to same. A complete book. Fully
illustrated. By A. Anderson.


ETIQUETTE.

No. 13. HOW TO DO IT; OR, BOOK OF ETIQUETTE.--It is a great life
secret, and one that every young man desires to know all about. There’s
happiness in it.

No. 33. HOW TO BEHAVE.--Containing the rules and etiquette of good
society and the easiest and most approved methods of appearing to
good advantage at parties, balls, the theatre, church, and in the
drawing-room.


DECLAMATION.

No. 27. HOW TO RECITE AND BOOK OF RECITATIONS.--Containing the most
popular selections in use, comprising Dutch dialect, French dialect,
Yankee and Irish dialect pieces, together with many standard readings.

No. 31. HOW TO BECOME A SPEAKER.--Containing fourteen illustrations,
giving the different positions requisite to become a good speaker,
reader and elocutionist. Also containing gems from all the popular
authors of prose and poetry, arranged in the most simple and concise
manner possible.

No. 49. HOW TO DEBATE.--Giving rules for conducting debates, outlines
for debates, questions for discussion, and the best sources for
procuring information on the questions given.


SOCIETY.

No. 3. HOW TO FLIRT.--The arts and wiles of flirtation are fully
explained by this little book. Besides the various methods of
handkerchief, fan, glove, parasol, window and hat flirtation, it
contains a full list of the language and sentiment of flowers, which
is interesting to everybody, both old and young. You cannot be happy
without one.

No. 4. HOW TO DANCE is the title of a new and handsome little book just
issued by Frank Tousey. It contains full instructions in the art of
dancing, etiquette in the ball-room and at parties, how to dress, and
full directions for calling off in all popular square dances.

No. 5. HOW TO MAKE LOVE.--A complete guide to love, courtship and
marriage, giving sensible advice, rules and etiquette to be observed,
with many curious and interesting things not generally known.

No. 17. HOW TO DRESS.--Containing full instruction in the art of
dressing and appearing well at home and abroad, giving the selections
of colors, material, and how to have them made up.

No. 18. HOW TO BECOME BEAUTIFUL.--One of the brightest and most
valuable little books ever given to the world. Everybody wishes to know
how to become beautiful, both male and female. The secret is simple,
and almost costless. Read this book and be convinced how to become
beautiful.


BIRDS AND ANIMALS.

No. 7. HOW TO KEEP BIRDS.--Handsomely illustrated and containing
full instructions for the management and training of the canary,
mockingbird, bobolink, blackbird, paroquet, parrot, etc.

No. 39. HOW TO RAISE DOGS, POULTRY, PIGEONS AND RABBITS.--A useful and
instructive book. Handsomely illustrated. By Ira Drofraw.

No. 40. HOW TO MAKE AND SET TRAPS.--Including hints on how to catch
moles, weasels, otters, rats, squirrels and birds. Also how to cure
skins. Copiously illustrated. By J. Harrington Keene.

No. 50. HOW TO STUFF BIRDS AND ANIMALS.--A valuable book, giving
instructions in collecting, preparing, mounting and preserving birds,
animals and insects.

No. 54. HOW TO KEEP AND MANAGE PETS.--Giving complete information as
to the manner and method of raising, keeping, taming, breeding, and
managing all kinds of pets; also giving full instructions for making
cages, etc. Fully explained by twenty-eight illustrations, making it
the most complete book of the kind ever published.

MISCELLANEOUS.

No. 8. HOW TO BECOME A SCIENTIST.--A useful and instructive book,
giving a complete treatise on chemistry; also experiments in acoustics,
mechanics, mathematics, chemistry, and directions for making fireworks,
colored fires, and gas balloons. This book cannot be equaled.

No. 14. HOW TO MAKE CANDY.--A complete hand-book for making all kinds
of candy, ice-cream, syrups, essences, etc., etc.

No. 34. HOW TO BECOME AN AUTHOR.--Containing full information regarding
choice of subjects, the use of words and the manner of preparing and
submitting manuscript. Also containing valuable information as to the
neatness, legibility and general composition of manuscript, essential
to a successful author. By Prince Hiland.

No. 38. HOW TO BECOME YOUR OWN DOCTOR.--A wonderful book, containing
useful and practical information in the treatment of ordinary diseases
and ailments common to every family. Abounding in useful and effective
recipes for general complaints.

No. 55. HOW TO COLLECT STAMPS AND COINS.--Containing valuable
information regarding the collecting and arranging of stamps and coins.
Handsomely illustrated.

No. 58. HOW TO BE A DETECTIVE.--By Old King Brady, the world-known
detective. In which he lays down some valuable and sensible rules
for beginners, and also relates some adventures and experiences of
well-known detectives.

No. 60. HOW TO BECOME A PHOTOGRAPHER.--Containing useful information
regarding the Camera and how to work it; also how to make Photographic
Magic Lantern Slides and other Transparencies. Handsomely illustrated.
By Captain W. De W. Abney.

No. 62. HOW TO BECOME A WEST POINT MILITARY CADET.--Containing full
explanations how to gain admittance, course of Study, Examinations,
Duties, Staff of Officers, Post Guard, Police Regulations, Fire
Department, and all a boy should know to be a Cadet. Compiled and
written by Lu Senarens, author of “How to Become a Naval Cadet.”

No. 63. HOW TO BECOME A NAVAL CADET.--Complete instructions of how to
gain admission to the Annapolis Naval Academy. Also containing the
course of instruction, description of grounds and buildings, historical
sketch, and everything a boy should know to become an officer in the
United States Navy. Compiled and written by Lu Senarens, author of “How
to Become a West Point Military Cadet.”


 =PRICE 10 CENTS EACH, OR 3 FOR 25 CENTS.=
 =Address FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher, 24 Union Square, New York.=



  FRANK MANLEY’S WEEKLY
  Good Stories of Young Athletes

  =(Formerly “THE YOUNG ATHLETE’S WEEKLY”)=

  =BY “PHYSICAL DIRECTOR”=

  A 32-PAGE BOOK FOR 5 CENTS

  =Issued Every Friday=  =Handsome Colored Covers=

These intensely interesting stories describe the adventures of Frank
Manley, a plucky young athlete, who tries to excel in all kinds of
games and pastimes. Each number contains a story of manly sports,
replete with lively incidents, dramatic situations and a sparkle of
humor. Every popular game will be featured in the succeeding stories,
such as baseball, skating, wrestling, etc. Not only are these stories
the very best, but they teach you how to become strong and healthy.
You can learn to become a trained athlete by reading the valuable
information on physical culture they contain. From time to time the
wonderful Japanese methods of self-protection, called Jiu-Jitsu, will
be explained. A page is devoted to advice on healthy exercises, and
questions on athletic subjects are cheerfully answered by the author
“PHYSICAL DIRECTOR.”

  No. 1 FRANK MANLEY’S REAL FIGHT; or,
        What the Push-ball Game Brought About
  No. 2 FRANK MANLEY’S LIGHTNING TRACK; or,
        Speed’s Part in a Great Crisis
  No. 3 FRANK MANLEY’S AMAZING VAULT; or,
        Pole and Brains in Deadly Earnest
  No. 4 FRANK MANLEY’S GRIDIRON GRILL; or,
         The Try-Out for Football Grit

For sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt
of price, 5 cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by

 =FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher=,                 =24 Union Square, New York.=


The Young Athlete’s Weekly

=By “PHYSICAL DIRECTOR”=

  =BE STRONG!=      =BE HEALTHY!=


LATEST ISSUES:

  4 Frank Manley’s Knack at Curling; or,
    The Greatest Ice Game on Record.
  5 Frank Manley’s Hockey Game; or,
    Up Against a Low Trick.
  6 Frank Manley’s Handicap; or,
    Fighting the Bradfords in Their Gym.
  7 Frank Manley’s ’Cross Country; or,
    Tod Owen’s Great Hare and Hounds Chase.
  8 Frank Manley’s Human Ladder; or,
    The Quickest Climb on Record.
  9 Frank Manley’s Protege; or,
    Jack Winston, Great Little Athlete.
 10 Frank Manley’s Off Day; or,
    The Greatest Strain in His Career.
 11 Frank Manley on Deck; or,
    At Work at Indoor Baseball.
 12 Frank Manley At the Bat; or,
    “The Up-and-at-’em Boys” on the Diamond.
 13 Frank Manley’s Hard Home Hit; or,
    The Play That Surprised the Bradfords.
 14 Frank Manley in the Box; or,
    The Curve That Rattled Bradford.
 15 Frank Manley’s Scratch Hit; or,
    The Luck of “The Up-and-at-’em Boys.”
 16 Frank Manley’s Double Play; or,
    The Game That Brought Fortune.
 17 Frank Manley’s All-around Game; or,
    Playing All the Nine Positions.
 18 Frank Manley’s Eight-Oared Crew; or,
    Tod Owen’s Decoration Day Regatta.
 19 Frank Manley’s Earned Run; or,
    The Sprint That Won a Cup.
 20 Frank Manley’s Triple Play; or,
    The Only Hope of the Nine.
 21 Frank Manley’s Training Table; or,
    Whipping the Nine into Shape.
 22 Frank Manley’s Coaching; or,
    The Great Game that “Jackets” Pitched.
 23 Frank Manley’s First League Game; or,
    The Fourth of July Battle With Bradford.
 24 Frank Manley’s Match with Giants; or,
    The Great Game With the Alton “Grown-Ups.”
 25 Frank Manley’s Training Camp; or,
    Getting in Trim for the Greatest Ball Game.
 26 Frank Manley’s Substitute Nine; or,
    A Game of Pure Grit.
 27 Frank Manley’s Longest Swim; or,
    Battling with Bradford in the Water.
 28 Frank Manley’s Bunch of Hits; or,
    Breaking the Season’s Batting Record.
 29 Frank Manley’s Double Game; or,
    The Wonderful Four-Team Match.
 30 Frank Manley’s Summer Meet; or,
    “Trying Out” the Bradfords.
 31 Frank Manley at His Wits’ End; or,
    Playing Against a Bribed Umpire.
 32 Frank Manley’s Last Ball Game; or,
    The Season’s Exciting Good-Bye to the Diamond.


For sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt
of price, 5 cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by

 =FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher,=                 =24 Union Square, New York.=

IF YOU WANT ANY BACK NUMBERS

of our Libraries and cannot procure them from newsdealers, they can be
obtained from this office direct. Cut out and fill in the following
Order Blank and send it to us with the price of the books you want and
we will send them to you by return mail.

                              =POSTAGE STAMPS TAKEN THE SAME AS MONEY.=

       *       *       *       *       *

 FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher, 24 Union Square, New York.      ......190
     Dear Sir--Enclosed find......cents for which please send me:
 ....copies of WORK AND WIN, Nos........................................
 ....copies of FRANK MANLEY’S WEEKLY, Nos...............................
 ....copies of WILD WEST WEEKLY, Nos....................................
 ....copies of THE LIBERTY BOYS OF ’76, Nos.............................
 ....copies of PLUCK AND LUCK, Nos......................................
 ....copies of SECRET SERVICE, Nos......................................
 ....copies of THE YOUNG ATHLETE’S WEEKLY, Nos..........................
 ....copies of Ten-Cent Hand Books, Nos.................................
 Name.................Street and No................Town..........State..



 Fame and Fortune Weekly
 _STORIES OF BOYS WHO MAKE MONEY_

 =By A SELF-MADE MAN=

 _32 Pages of Reading Matter_        _Handsome Colored Covers_

 =☛ PRICE 5 CENTS A COPY ☚=

 =☛ A New One Issued Every Friday ☚=


This Weekly contains interesting stories of smart boys, who win
fame and fortune by their ability to take advantage of passing
opportunities. Some of these stories are founded on true incidents
in the lives of our most successful self-made men, and show how a
boy of pluck, perseverance and brains can become famous and wealthy.
Every one of this series contains a good moral tone, which makes “Fame
and Fortune Weekly” a magazine for the home, although each number
is replete with exciting adventures. The stories are the very best
obtainable, the illustrations are by expert artists, and every effort
is constantly being made to make it the best weekly on the news stands.
Tell your friends about it.


THE FOLLOWING IS A LIST OF THE FIRST EIGHT TITLES AND DATES OF ISSUE

 No. 1.--A Lucky Deal; or, The Cutest Boy in Wall Street
         Issued Oct.  6th
 No. 2.--Born to Good Luck; or, The Boy Who Succeeded
         Issued Oct. 13th
 No. 3.--A Corner in Corn; or, How a Chicago Boy Did the Trick
         Issued Oct. 20th
 No. 4.--A Game of Chance; or, The Boy Who Won Out
         Issued Oct. 27th
 No. 5.--Hard to Beat; or, The Cleverest Boy in Wall Street
         Issued Nov.  3rd
 No. 6.--Building a Railroad; or, The Young Contractors of Lakeview
         Issued Nov. 10th
 No. 7.--Winning His Way; or, The Youngest Editor in Green River
         Issued Nov. 17th
 No. 8.--The Wheel of Fortune; or, The Record of a Self-Made Boy
         Issued Nov. 24th

For sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt
of price, 5 cents per copy in money or postage stamps, by

=FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher= * * * =24 Union Square, New York=


IF YOU WANT ANY BACK NUMBERS

of our Libraries and cannot procure them from newsdealers, they can be
obtained from this office direct. Cut out and fill in the following
Order Blank and send it to us with the price of the books you want and
we will send them to you by return mail.

                              =POSTAGE STAMPS TAKEN THE SAME AS MONEY.=

       *       *       *       *       *

 FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher, 24 Union Square, New York.      ......190
     Dear Sir--Enclosed find......cents for which please send me:
 ....copies of WORK AND WIN, Nos........................................
 ....copies of FAME AND FORTUNE WEEKLY, Nos.............................
 ....copies of FRANK MANLEY’S WEEKLY, Nos...............................
 ....copies of WILD WEST WEEKLY, Nos....................................
 ....copies of THE LIBERTY BOYS OF ’76, Nos.............................
 ....copies of PLUCK AND LUCK, Nos......................................
 ....copies of SECRET SERVICE, Nos......................................
 ....copies of YOUNG ATHLETE’S WEEKLY, Nos..............................
 ....copies of TEN-CENT HANDBOOKS, Nos..................................
 Name.................Street and No................Town..........State..



Transcriber’s Notes


A number of typographical errors were corrected silently.

Cover image is in the public domain.

Dittoes were replaced with the repeated words.

Missing text under “If you want any back numbers” were deduced from
other editions.



*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Fame and Fortune Weekly, No. 1, October 6, 1905: A Lucky Deal; or The Cutest Boy in Wall Street" ***

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