“I say, Jimsy, hae ye seen this grand new prospectus for a railway tae Glenmutchkin?”

“Ay.  It looks no that ill.  The Hieland lairds are pitting their best foremost.  Will ye apply for shares?”

“I think I’ll tak’ twa hundred.  Wha’s Sir Polloxfen Tremens?”

“He’ll be yin o’ the Ayrshire folk.  He used to rin horses at the Paisley races.”

("The devil he did!” thought I.)

“D’ ye ken ony o’ the directors, Jimsy?”

“I ken Sawley fine.  Ye may depend on ’t, it’s a gude thing if he’s in ‘t, for he’s a howkin’ body.

“Then it’s sure to gae up.  What prem. d’ ye think it will bring?”

“Twa pund a share, and maybe mair.”

“’Od, I’ll apply for three hundred!”

“Heaven bless you, my dear countrymen!” thought I, as I sallied forth to refresh myself with a basin of soup, “do but maintain this liberal and patriotic feeling—­this thirst for national improvement, internal communication, and premiums—­a short while longer, and I know whose fortune will be made.”

On the following morning my breakfast-table was covered with shoals of letters, from fellows whom I scarcely ever had spoken to,—­or who, to use a franker phraseology, had scarcely ever condescended to speak to me,—­entreating my influence as a director to obtain them shares in the new undertaking.  I never bore malice in my life, so I chalked them down, without favouritism, for a certain proportion.  While engaged in this charitable work, the door flew open, and M’Corkindale, looking utterly haggard with excitement, rushed in.

“You may buy an estate whenever you please, Dunshunner,” cried he; “the world’s gone perfectly mad!  I have been to Blazes, the broker, and he tells me that the whole amount of the stock has been subscribed for four times over already, and he has not yet got in the returns from Edinburgh and Liverpool!”

“Are they good names, though, Bob—­sure cards—­none of your M’Closkies and M’Alcohols?”

“The first names in the city, I assure you, and most of them holders for investment.  I wouldn’t take ten millions for their capital.”

“Then the sooner we close the list the better.”

“I think so too.  I suspect a rival company will be out before long.  Blazes says the shares are selling already conditionally on allotment, at seven and sixpence premium.”

“The deuce they are!  I say, Bob, since we have the cards in our hands, would it not be wise to favour them with a few hundreds at that rate?  A bird in the hand, you know, is worth two in the bush, eh?”

“I know no such maxim in political economy,” replied the secretary.  “Are you mad, Dunshunner?  How are the shares to go up, if it gets wind that the directors are selling already?  Our business just now is to bull the line, not to bear it; and if you will trust me, I shall show them such an operation on the ascending scale as the Stock Exchange has not witnessed for this long and many a day.  Then to-morrow I shall advertise in the papers that the committee, having received applications for ten times the amount of stock, have been compelled, unwillingly, to close the lists.  That will be a slap in the face to the dilatory gentlemen, and send up the shares like wildfire.”