a share of the stock he offers to tell the dupe where it and the engineer can be found.  They visit the man, apparently at the point of death, and the dupe gives him money for his stock.  Later the dupe finds the stock is worthless, and the supposed engineer and the supposed broker divide the money he paid for it.  In telling the story Ford pretended he was the broker and that he thought in Ashton he had found a dupe who would buy the stock from the sick engineer.

As the story unfolded and Ashton appreciated the part Ford expected him to play in it, his emotions were so varied that he was in danger of apoplexy.  Amusement, joy, chagrin, and indignation illuminated his countenance.  His cigar ceased to burn, and with his eyes opened wide he regarded Ford in pitying wonder.

“Wait!” he commanded.  He shook his head uncomprehendingly.  “Tell me,” he asked, “do I look as easy as that, or are you just naturally foolish?”

Ford pretended to fall into a state of great alarm.

“I don’t understand,” he stammered.

“Why, son,” exclaimed Ashton kindly, “I was taught that story in the public schools.  I invented it.  I stopped using it before you cut your teeth.  Gee!” he exclaimed delightedly.  “I knew I had grown respectable-looking, but I didn’t think I was so damned respectable-looking as that!” He began to laugh silently; so greatly was he amused that the tears shone in his eyes and his shoulders shook.

“I’m sorry for you, son,” he protested, “but that’s the funniest thing that’s come my way in two years.  And you buying me hot-house grapes, too, and fancy water!  I wish you could see your face,” he taunted.

Ford pretended to be greatly chagrined.

“All right,” he declared roughly.  “The laugh’s on me this time, but just because I lost one trick, don’t think I don’t know my business.  Now that I’m wise to what you are we can work together and—­”

The face of young Mr. Ashton became instantly grave.  His jaws snapped like a trap.  When he spoke his tone was assured and slightly contemptuous.

“Not with me you can’t work!” he said.

“Don’t think because I fell down on this,” Ford began hotly.

“I’m not thinking of you at all,” said Ashton.  “You’re a nice little fellow all right, but you have sized me up wrong.  I am on the ’straight and narrow’ that leads back to little old New York and God’s country, and I am warranted not to run off my trolley.”

The words were in the vernacular, but the tone in which the young man spoke rang so confidently that it brought to Ford a pleasant thrill of satisfaction.  From the first he had found in the personality of the young man something winning and likable; a shrewd manliness and tolerant good-humor.  His eyes may have shown his sympathy, for, in sudden confidence, Ashton leaned nearer.