“If my Solomon-headed sister is satisfied with what you’re doing, Captain Nemo, that’s good enough for me,” he would say.  “So forget that stuff till I’m out of sight.  Open up, Captain—­what do you think copper is going to do?”

“I wish you could be put on an operating-table and have your speculative streak knifed out of you, Dick.  That oil stock you bought the other day—­why, a blind man could have seen it was wild-cat.  And you were wiped out.”

“Oh, the best of ’em get aboard a bad deal now and then.”

“I know.  But I’ve been tabulating all your deals to date, and on the total you’re away behind.  Better leave the market absolutely alone, Dick, and quit taking those big chances.”

“You’ve got to take some big chances, Captain Nemo”—­Dick had clung to the title he had lightly conferred on Larry the morning he had come in to apologize—­“or else you’ll never make any big winnings.  Besides, I want a run for my money.  Just getting money isn’t enough.  I want a little pep in mine.”

Larry saw that these talks on the unwisdom of speculation he was giving Dick were not in themselves enough to affect a change in Dick.  Mere words were colorless and negative; something positive would be required.

Larry hesitated before he ventured upon another matter he had long considered.  “Excuse my saying it, Dick.  But a man who’s trying to do as much in a business way as you are, particularly since it’s plain speculation, can’t afford to go to after-theater shows three times a week and to late suppers the other four nights.  Two and three o’clock is no bedtime hour for a business man.  And that boot-legged booze you drink when you’re out doesn’t help you any.  I know you think I’m talking like a fossilized grand-aunt—­but all the same, it’s the straight stuff I’m handing you.”

“Of course it’s straight stuff—­and you’re perfectly all right, Captain Nemo.”  With a good-natured smile Dick clapped him on the shoulder.  “But I’m all right, too, and nothing and nobody is going to hurt me.  Got to have a little fun, haven’t I?  As for the booze, I’m merely making hay while the sun shines.  Soon there’ll be no sun—­I mean no booze.”

Larry dropped the subject.  In his old unprincipled, days his practice had been much what he had suggested to Dick; as little drink as possible, and as few late nights as possible.  He had needed all his wits all the time.  In this matter of hilarious late hours, as in the matter of speculation, Larry recognized words alone, however good, would have little effect upon the pleasure-loving, friendly, likable Dick.  An event, some big experience, would be required to check him short and bring him to his senses.