Atterbury managed the business.  Me and Buck never quite understood all of it, though he explained it to us in full.  It seems the company was a kind of cooperative one, and everybody that bought stock shared in the profits.  First, we officers bought up a controlling interest—­we had to have that—­of the shares at 50 cents a hundred—­just what the printer charged us—­and the rest went to the public at a dollar each.  The company guaranteed the stockholders a profit of ten per cent. each month, payable on the last day thereof.

When any stockholder had paid in as much as $100, the company issued him a Gold Bond and he became a bondholder.  I asked Atterbury one day what benefits and appurtenances these Gold Bonds was to an investor more so than the immunities and privileges enjoyed by the common sucker who only owned stock.  Atterbury picked up one of them Gold Bonds, all gilt and lettered up with flourishes and a big red seal tied with a blue ribbon in a bowknot, and he looked at me like his feelings was hurt.

“My dear Colonel Pickens,” says he, “you have no soul for Art.  Think of a thousand homes made happy by possessing one of these beautiful gems of the lithographer’s skill!  Think of the joy in the household where one of these Gold Bonds hangs by a pink cord to the what-not, or is chewed by the baby, caroling gleefully upon the floor!  Ah, I see your eye growing moist, Colonel—­I have touched you, have I not?”

“You have not,” says I, “for I’ve been watching you.  The moisture you see is apple juice.  You can’t expect one man to act as a human cider-press and an art connoisseur too.”

Atterbury attended to the details of the concern.  As I understand it, they was simple.  The investors in stock paid in their money, and—­ well, I guess that’s all they had to do.  The company received it, and —­I don’t call to mind anything else.  Me and Buck knew more about selling corn salve than we did about Wall Street, but even we could see how the Golconda Gold Bond Investment Company was making money.  You take in money and pay back ten per cent. of it; it’s plain enough that you make a clean, legitimate profit of 90 per cent., less expenses, as long as the fish bite.

Atterbury wanted to be president and treasurer too, but Buck winks an eye at him and says:  “You was to furnish the brains.  Do you call it good brain work when you propose to take in money at the door, too?  Think again.  I hereby nominate myself treasurer ad valorem, sine die, and by acclamation.  I chip in that much brain work free.  Me and Pickens, we furnished the capital, and we’ll handle the unearned increment as it incremates.”

It costs us $500 for office rent and first payment on furniture; $1,500 more went for printing and advertising.  Atterbury knew his business.  “Three months to a minute we’ll last,” says he.  “A day longer than that and we’ll have to either go under or go under an alias.  By that time we ought to clean up $60,000.  And then a money belt and a lower berth for me, and the yellow journals and the furniture men can pick the bones.”