“What shall I buy?”

“Ten thousand shares of Transcontinental Common at the opening price; and tell them to buy on the scale up, and to raise the stop; also to take your orders to sell over the ’phone.  Then wait there until I come for you.”

Montague set his teeth together and obeyed orders.  Inside the door marked Hammond and Streeter a pleasant-faced young man advanced to meet him, and led him to a grey-haired and affable gentleman, Mr. Streeter.  And Montague introduced himself as a stranger in town, from the South, and wishing to buy some stock.  Mr. Streeter led him into an inner office and seated himself at a desk and drew some papers in front of him.  “Your name, please?” he asked.

“I don’t care to give my name,” replied the other.  And Mr. Streeter put down his pen.

“Not give your name?” he said.

“No,” said Montague quietly.

“Why?”—­said Mr. Streeter—­“I don’t understand—­”

“I am a stranger in town,” said Montague, “and not accustomed to dealing in stocks.  I should prefer to remain unknown.”

The man eyed him sharply.  “Where do you come from?” he asked.

“From Mississippi,” was the reply.

“And have you a residence in New York?”

“At a hotel,” said Montague.

“You have to give some name,” said the other.

“Any will do,” said Montague.  “John Smith, if you like.”

“We never do anything like this,” said the broker.

“We require that our customers be introduced.  There are rules of the
Exchange—­there are rules—­”

“I am sorry,” said Montague; “this would be a cash transaction.”

“How many shares do you want to buy?”

“Ten thousand,” was the reply.

Mr. Streeter became more serious.  “That is a large order,” he said.

Montague said nothing.

“What do you wish to buy?” was the next question.

“Transcontinental Common,” he replied.

“Well,” said the other, after another pause-,-"we will try to accommodate you.  But you will have to consider it—­er—­”

“Strictly confidential,” said Montague.

So Mr. Streeter made out the papers, and Montague, looking them over, discovered that they called for one hundred thousand dollars.

“That is a mistake,” he said.  “I have only sixty thousand.”

“Oh,” said the other, “we shall certainly have to charge you a ten per cent, margin.”

Montague was not prepared for this contingency; but he did some mental arithmetic.  “What is the present price of the stock?” he asked.

“Fifty-nine and five-eighths,” was the reply.

“Then sixty thousand dollars is more than ten per cent, of the market price,” said Montague.

“Yes,” said Mr. Streeter.  “But in dealing with a stranger we shall certainly have to put a ‘stop loss’ order at four points above, and that would leave you only two points of safety—­surely not enough.”