The Argosy, Vol. 84 No. 1 — page 91: what you’re looking at

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

“Buy a hundred Tubular Brass,” - Chase called to some one across the room. A young man spoke into a telephone. “ Let’s see, Mr. Evans—your other name is?”’ ‘‘ Bruce,” Evans answered thickly. “ Charley, tell Bailey to put in another buy of ten when he gets a chance,”’ Chase spoke again to the young man at the telephone. “ All right, Mr. Evans. Hope you make half a million,” Chase spoke in dismissal. ‘“‘ Bought the hundred,” the young man called from his phone. Several men eyed Bruce as he turned away from the desk. They looked down at a strip of ribbon which was issuing from beneath a glass dome with clockwork buzzing inside it. Bruce remembered seeing Mercer examine such a ribbon in such an instrument upon entering his club. Wheelock had done the-same at the café. He decided to do as the rest. He wondered why the men looked at him so searchingly; what he was doing that seemed unusual. Then he decided that his clothes must be the object of their curiosity. Yet two or three other men, older than he, were even shabbier. He looked at the tape. 100 TUB BRS 43%. It was his purchase. It was a wonder- ful thing that something he had done was heralded all over the world. He wondered whether that same little set of abbrevia- tions and figures were actually cabled to Europe. He had bought a hundred shares of stock, and the world took notice! Well, he had spent twelve hundred dol- lars in one lump. If the world ever would notice him, now was the time for it. But forty-three and a half—unless he was mistaken the figures at which Wheelock had pointed yesterday noon had been forty-seven and something. Wheelock had thought he could get a hun- dred. He got a hundred and ten. Ob- viously he had secured a bargain. He started back for the bank. There seemed something awful about leaving all that money without any one to watch it, 6A. THE GILDED TRAP, 81 to see that it did not suffer some sudden loss which would wipe it out of existence before he could even find out that it was gone. He could not work. He could hardly understand how the others worked. He had twelve hundred in Tubular Brass, whatever that might be. The fact was so oppressively big, so ex- clusively preoccupying, it seemed it must shriek itself through the building. Suppose he lost it. Wheelock said he would never sue to recover it. Of course not. But it would be a debt. Bruce always paid his debts. : If he lost—somehow he suddenly found the prospect of putting off his marriage indefinitely a very sad one. Suppose he won. Wheelock said the stock would go over par. He tried to figure out what it meant, how much he would make. But he couldn’t. He looked at the clock. Eleven. An- other hour to lunch-time. No—he must wait until Travis got back. An hour and a half. Could he live through it? He wanted nothing but to get to a ticker. Twelve o’clock came. Travis hurried out. Evans gasped. He was hours be- hind in his work. He tried to plunge into the ledgers. A call from the paying- teller’s telephone startled him out of an effort to figure how low Tubular Brass ~ would have to go to wipe out the twelve hundred entirely. It took him five minutes to get the an- swer to the question as to the state of Mr. Antonio Zallina’s account. Travis came back. Bruce straightened himself. His limbs seemed numb and cold. He was going to find out—find out—great Heaven! ‘Stock Ticker,” a little’sign announced in front of the corner café. Bruce drew a long breath and entered the place. He looked about fearfully. The little glass dome buzzed merrily in a corner. He drew another breath. Two men hurried into the pla¢e and made for the ticker. He drew aside and - let them beat him to it. His eagerness to know seemed to have petered out. CORMENOOKS (E@)