had in fact already won and was resting comfortably in the stable.  Felix grasped the idea instantly.  At the same time he had his suspicions of his visitor.  It seemed peculiar that he, an inconspicuous citizen who had already lost $50,000 in gambling houses, should be selected as the recipient of such a momentous opportunity.  Moreover, he knew very well that gentlemen in gambling houses were never introduced at all.  He thought he detected the odor of a rodent.  He naively inquired why, if all these things were so, Nelson and his friend were not already yet millionaires two or three times?  The answer was at once forthcoming that they had been, but also had been robbed—­unmercifully robbed, by one in whom they had had confidence and to whom they had entrusted their money.

“And now we are poor, penniless clerks!” sighed Nelson, “and if we should offer to make a big bet ourselves, the gamblers would be suspicious and probably refuse to place it.”

“I think this looks like a schvindling game,” said Felix shrewdly.  So it did; so it was.

By and by Felix put on his hat and, escorted by Nelson, paid a visit to the “branch office” at 27 East Twenty-second Street.  Where once solitude had reigned supreme and the spider had spun his web amid the fast-gathering dust, all was now tumultuous activity.  Fifteen busy operators in eye shades and shirt sleeves took the news hot from the humming wires and clicked it off to the waiting pool rooms.

“Scarecrow wins by a neck!” cried one, “Blackbird second!”

“Make the odds 5 to 3,” shouted a short, ill-favored man, who sat at a desk puffing a large black cigar.  The place buzzed like a beehive and ticked like a clockmaker’s.  It had an atmosphere of breathless excitement all its own.  Felix watched and marvelled, wondering if dreams came true.

The short, ill-favored man strolled over and condescended to make Mr. Felix’s acquaintance.  An hour later the three of them were closeted among the zitherns.  At the same moment the fifteen operators were ranged in a line in front, of a neighboring bar, their elbows simultaneously elevated at an angle of forty-five degrees.

Felix still had lingering doubts.  Hadn’t Mr. McPherson some little paper—­a letter, a bill, a receipt or a check, to show that he was really in the employ of the Western Union?  No, said “Mac,” but he had something better—­the badge which he had received as the fastest operator among the company’s employees.  Felix wanted to see it, but “Mac” explained that it was locked up in the vault at the Farmers’ Loan and Trust Co.  To Felix this had a safe sound—­“Farmers’ Trust Co.”  Then matters began to move rapidly.  It was arranged that Felix should go down in the morning and get $50,000 from his bankers, Seligman and Meyer.  After that he was to meet Nelson at the store and go with him to the pool room where the big financiers played their money.  McPherson was to remain at the “office” and telephone them the results of the races in advance.  By nightfall they would be worth half a million.