Argosy and Railroad Man's Magazine, Vol. 107 No. 3 — page 169: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

PROFIT. “ Old stuff!” grunted Heim. “ Anything new?” “T’m telling you!’”’ snapped Cawston, chewing at his cigar. ‘‘ You pay attention. Where’d you be, if it wasn’t for me—huh? The officers of the Department of Justice ain’t as blind as you think they are, Mac. Well, Wilbur is shown in here. I’m busy as hell—see? Phone working overtime; Miss Farley will see to that. All right. Wilbur’s impressed. Begins to see my time’s valuable. Asks about the Silver Phoenix mine we're selling stock for. Well, I ain’t so keen to sell it to him.” ‘“‘ Oh, no,” muttered Heim, with what he considered wit. ‘You weary me,” said Cawston fretfully. “I’m director of this little money-maker in one reel.” He glanced again at Wilbur’s letter, with the abstracted stare of a master worker planning a chef-d’cuvre. “‘ Here’s how she goes, Mac. I tip Wilbur off that the Phoenix stock has gone up five points while he was hitting the ties getting here. All right. He’s anxious about it now. More movie stuff—cut-in of me refusing a wealthy investor a five-hundred-share block over the wire, Miss Farley being the in- vestor.”’ “Don’t I figure in this, Al?” “Then you enter. You’re my broker— see? By the way, cut out that knowin’ air. You’re a busy man. You've just bought a four-hundred-share block in the stock mar- ket, and you give me the certificate. I tell Wilbur I ought to let my wealthy client have the stock; it’s going up all the time. But as a favor I let him take it at eleven and a half. That’s forty- six hundred and twenty dollars.” “ But I thought Wilbur had five thou- sand to salt away?” Cawston laughed shortly. “You're right, Mac. But wrong on hu- man nature. Wilbur ‘ll figure he’s saving three hundred and eighty. That ll go big with him.” “I got to hand it to you, Al!” Heim yawned and glanced at his watch. ‘“‘ After the show is over, I suppose I take Wilbur out, tuck a high-class feed into him, and see him back to his hotel.” 511 “Yep. Steer him away from this part of the city. He might have a friend some- where who’d tip him off that he’d been stung. Hold on, though.” Cawston smiled thoughtfully. ‘“‘ Show him a stock-exchange ticker in the restaurant you go to. Let’s see. Penn Steel is selling around twelve. The abbreviation for it on the ticker is Pen— that would pass for Phcenix.”’ ‘* And he’d see two hundred dollars’ profit in the stock in a half-hour. Fine work, chief.” “T guess that’s all,’ meditated Cawston. “Tl look after the selling end. Hang around Durlan’s Café after nine o’clock— Miss Farley’ll give you a buzz when it’s time to butt in.” “QO. K.” nodded Heim. “I'll get the certificate from Riggs as I go out. Say, Al, what d’ye guess these suckers do with the certificates after they find out they’ve been given the work. Frame ’em?”’ “T’d say,” responded Cawston, “that they burn ’em. Not one in a hundred raises a how! when he’s been milked. Why? It’s human nature. Especially a man from a small town—and ginks are thick in New York, too—he hates to let the neighbors know he’s been speculating and lost his money.” “Well, handle Wilbur right, Al. I can use my two-fifths of that five thousand bucks. Can you slip me a century to-day, Al? I want to date up Miss Farley. She’s a queen where the lilies grow.” Heim took the bills Cawston handed him, after noting the transaction in a memoran- dum. He strolled out to the office, where Riggs was drawing a tentative schedule of bets on the morrow’s races in the cash ledger, and the stenographer was using a well-worn chamois cloth on her immaculate nails. He stepped inside the railing and leaned over Miss Farley’s desk. The girl raised cool, brown eyes in questioning appraisal. She was a grand looker, Heim thought, with her shining, chestnut hair and clear skin. She wore\a modish dark skirt with a simple white waist, copied from one she had seen in the window of a Fifth Avenue modiste’s. ‘“‘ You’re through for the day, ain’t you, Miss Farley?” Heim wondered why he still COnM LNOO S (C(O) mM