“‘So we waited and all the time the figgers kept goin’ up on the board, under signs of “Pork” and “Wheat” and “Cotton” and such, and we’d hear how so and so’s account was makin’ a thousand a day, and the like of that.  After a while the nice man, who it turned out was one of the bosses of the concern, told us what it meant.  Seemed there was a big “rise” in the market and them that bought now was bound to get rich quick.  Consequent we said we wished we could buy and get rich, too.  And the smilin’ chap says, “Let’s go have some lunch."’

“Williams laughed.  ‘Ho, ho!’ says he.  ‘Expensive lunch, was it?’

“‘Most extravagant meal of vittles ever I got away with,’ I says.  ’Cost me and my partner two hundred and fifty apiece, that lunch did.  We stayed in Boston two days, and on the afternoon of the second day we was on our way back totin’ a couple of neat but expensive slips of paper signifyin’ that we’d bought December and May wheat on a one per cent margin.  We was a hundred ahead already, ‘cordin’ to the blackboard, and was figgerin’ what sort of palaces we’d build when we cashed in.’

“‘Ain’t no use preachin’ a long sermon over the remains.  ’Twas a simple funeral and nobody sent flowers.  Inside of a month we was cleaned out and the wheat place had gone out of business—­failed, busted, you understand.  Our fish dealer friend asked some questions, and found out the shebang wa’n’t a real stock dealer’s at all.  ’Twas what they call a “bucket shop,” and we’d bought nothin’ but air, and paid a commission for buyin’ it.  And the smilin’, nice man that run the swindle had been hangin’ on the edge of bust for a long while and knowed ‘twas comin’.  Our five hundred had helped pay his way to a healthier climate, that’s all.’

“‘Hold on a minute,’ says Fatty, lookin’ more interested.  ’What was the name of the firm that took you greenhorns in?’

“‘’Twas the Empire Bond, Stock and Grain Exchange,’ says I.  ’And ’twas on Derbyshire Street.’

“He give a little jump.  Then he says, slow, Hu-u-m!  I—­see.’

“‘Yes,’ says I.  ’I thought you would.  You had a mustache then and your name was diff’rent, but you seemed familiar just the same.  When your false hair got washed off I knew you right away.’

“He took out his pocket pen and his check book and done a little figgerin’.

“‘Humph!’ he says, again.  ’You lost five hundred and I’ve paid you five hundred and five.  What’s the five for?’

“‘That’s my commission on the sales,’ I says.

“And just then comes a hail from outside the shanty.  Out we bolted and there was Sam Davis, just steppin’ ashore from his power boat.  Williams’s housekeeper had strained a p’int and had shaded her orders by a couple of days.

“Williams and Sam started for home right off.  I followed in the Shootin’ Star, havin’ borrered gasoline enough for the run.  I reached the dock ha’f an hour after they did, and there was Fatty waitin’ for me.