THE TIPSTER

By Edwin Lefevre

From "Wall Street Stories. " Copyright, 1901, by McClure, Phillips & Co. 

I

Glmartin was still laughing professionally at the prospective buyer'sfunny story when the telephone on his desk buzzed. He said: "Excuse mefor a minute, old man, " to the customer--Hopkins, the Connecticutmanufacturer. 

"Hello; who is this?" he spoke into the transmitter. "Oh, how areyou?--Yes--I was out--Is that so?--Too bad--Too bad--Yes; just my luckto be out. I might have known it!--Do you think so?--Well, then, sellthe 200 Occidental common--You know best--What about Trolley?--Holdon?--All right; just as you say--I hope so--I don't like to lose, and--Ha! ha!--I guess so--Good-by. "

"It's from my brokers, " explained Gilmartin, hanging up the receiver. "I'd have saved five hundred dollars if I had been here at half-pastten. They called me up to advise me to sell out, and the price is offover three points. I could have got out at a profit this morning; butno, sir; not I. I had to be away, trying to buy some camphor. "

Hopkins was impressed. Gilmartin perceived it and went on, with an airof comical wrath which he thought was preferable to indifference: "Itisn't the money I mind so much as the tough luck of it. I didn't make mytrade in camphor after all and I lost in stocks, when if I'd only waitedfive minutes more in the office I'd have got the message from my brokersand saved my five hundred. Expensive, my time is, eh?" with a wofulshake of the head. 

"But you're ahead of the game, aren't you?" asked the customer, interestedly. 

"Well, I guess yes. Just about twelve thousand. "

That was more than Gilmartin had made; but having exaggerated, heimmediately felt very kindly disposed toward the Connecticut man. 

"Whew!" whistled Hopkins, admiringly. Gilmartin experienced a greattenderness toward him. The lie was made stingless by the customer'scredulity. This brought a smile of subtle relief to Gilmartin's lips. He was a pleasant-faced, pleasant-voiced man of three-and-thirty. Heexhaled health, contentment, neatness, and an easy conscience. Honestyand good-nature shone in his eyes. People liked to shake hands with him. It made his friends talk of his lucky star; and they envied him. 

"I bought this yesterday for my wife; took it out of a little deal inTrolley, " he told Hopkins, taking a small jewel-box from one of thedesk's drawers. It contained a diamond ring, somewhat showy, butobviously quite expensive. Hopkins's semi-envious admiration madeGilmartin add, genially: "What do you say to lunch? I feel I am entitledto a glass of 'fizz' to forget my bad luck of this morning. " Then, inan exaggeratedly apologetic tone: "Nobody likes to lose five hundreddollars on an empty stomach!"

"She'll be delighted, of course, " said Hopkins, thinking of Mrs. Gilmartin. Mrs. Hopkins loved jewelry. 

"She's the nicest little woman that ever lived. Whatever is mine ishers; and what's hers is her own. Ha! ha! But, " becoming nicely serious, "all that I'll make out of the stock market I'm going to put away forher, in her name. She can take better care of it than I; and, besides, she's entitled to it, anyhow, for being so nice to me. "

That is how he told what a good husband he was. He felt so pleased overit that he went on, sincerely regretful: "She's visiting friendsin Pennsylvania or I'd ask you to dine with us. " And they went to afashionable restaurant together. 

Day after day Gilmartin thought persistently that Maiden Lane was toofar from Wall Street. There came a week in which he could have made fourvery handsome "turns" had he but been in the brokers' office. He was outon business for his firm and when he returned the opportunity hadgone, leaving behind it vivid visions of what might have been; also theconviction that time, tide, and the ticker wait for no man. Instead ofbuying and selling quinine and balsams and essential oils for Maxwell& Kip, drug brokers and importers, he decided to make the buying andselling of stocks and bonds his exclusive business. The hours were easy;the profits would be great. He would make enough to live on. He wouldnot let the Street take away what it had given. That was the greatsecret: to know when to quit! He would be content with a moderateamount, wisely invested in gilt-edged bonds. And then he would bid theStreet good-by forever. 

Force of long business custom and the indefinable fear of new venturesfor a time fought successfully his increasing ticker-fever. But one dayhis brokers wished to speak to him, to urge him to sell out his entireholdings, having been advised of an epoch-making resolution by Congress. They had received the news in advance from a Washington customer. Otherbrokers had important connections in the Capital and therefore there wasno time to lose. They dared not assume the responsibilty of sellinghim out without his permission. Five minutes--five eternities!--passedbefore they could talk by telephone with him; and when he gave his orderto sell, the market had broken five or six points. The news was "out. "The news agencies' slips were in the brokers' offices and half of WallStreet knew. Instead of being among the first ten sellers Gilmartin wasamong the second hundred. 

II

The clerks gave him a farewell dinner. All were there, even the headoffice-boy to whom the two-dollar subscription was no light matter. Theman who probably would succeed Gilmartin as manager, Jenkins, acted astoastmaster. He made a witty speech which ended with a neatly turnedcompliment. Moreover, he seemed sincerely sorry to bid good-by to theman whose departure meant promotion--which was the nicest compliment ofall. And the other clerks--old Williamson, long since ambition-proof;and young Hardy, bitten ceaselessly by it; and middle-aged Jameson, whoknew he could run the business much better than Gilmartin; and Baldwin, who never thought of business in or out of the office--all told him howgood he had been and related corroborative anecdotes that made him blushand the others cheer; and how sorry they were he would no longer be withthem, but how glad he was going to do so much better by himself; andthey hoped he would not "cut" them when he met them after he had becomea great millionaire. And Gilmartin felt his heart grow soft and feelingsnot all of happiness came over him. Danny, the dean of the office boys, whose surname was known only to the cashier, rose and said, in the tonesof one speaking of a dear departed friend: "He was the best man in theplace. He always was all right. " Everybody laughed; whereupon Danny wenton, with a defiant glare at the others: "I'd work for him for nothin' ifhe'd want me, instead of gettin' ten a week from any one else. " And whenthey laughed the harder at this he said, stoutly: "Yes, I would!" Hiseyes filled with tears at their incredulity, which he feared might beshared by Mr. Gilmartin. But the toastmaster rose very gravely and said:"What's the matter with Danny?" And all shouted in unison: "He's allright!" with a cordiality so heartfelt that Danny smiled and sat down, blushing happily. And crusty Jameson, who knew he could run the businessso much better than Gilmartin, stood up--he was the last speaker--andbegan: "In the ten years I've worked with Gilmartin, we've had ourdifferences and--well--I--well--er--oh, damn it!" and walked quickly tothe head of the table and shook hands violently with Gilmartin for fullya minute, while all the others looked on in silence. 

Gilmartin had been eager to go to Wall Street. But this leave-takingmade him sad. The old Gilmartin who had worked with these men was nomore and the new Gilmartin felt sorry. He had never stopped to think howmuch they cared for him nor indeed how very much he cared for them. 

He told them, very simply, he did not expect ever again to spend suchpleasant years anywhere as at the old office; and as for his spells ofill-temper--oh, yes, they needn't shake their heads; he knew he oftenwas irritable--he had meant well and trusted they would forgive him. Ifhe had his life to live over again he would try really to deserve allthat they had said of him on this evening. And he was very, very sorryto leave them. "Very sorry, boys; very sorry. _Very_ sorry!" he finishedlamely, with a wistful smile. He shook hands with each man--a stronggrip, as though he were about to go on a journey from which he mightnever return--and in his heart of hearts there was a new doubt of thewisdom of going to Wall Street. But it was too late to draw back. 

They escorted him to his house. They wished to be with him to the lastpossible minute. 

III

Everybody in the drug trade seemed to think that Gilmartin was onthe highroad to Fortune. Those old business acquaintances and formercompetitors whom he happened to meet in the street-cars or in thetheatre lobbies always spoke to him as to a millionaire-to-be, in whatthey imagined was correct Wall Street jargon, to show him that they tooknew something of the great game. But their efforts made him smile witha sense of superiority, at the same time that their admiration for hiscleverness and their good-natured envy for his luck made his soul thrilljoyously. Among his new friends in Wall Street also he found much toenjoy. The other customers--some of them very wealthy men--listened tohis views regarding the market as attentively as he, later, felt it hispolite duty to listen to theirs. The brokers themselves treated him asa "good fellow. " They cajoled him into trading often--every one hundredshares he bought or sold meant $12. 50 to them--and when he won, theypraised his unerring discernment. When he lost they soothed him byscolding him for his recklessness--just as a mother will treat herthree-year-old's fall as a great joke in order to deceive the child intolaughing at its misfortune. It was an average office with an averageclientèle. 

From ten to three they stood before the quotation board and watched aquick-witted boy chalk the price changes, which one or another of thecustomers read aloud from the tape as it came from the ticker. Thehigher stocks went the more numerous the customers became, being alluredin great flocks to the Street by the tales of their friends, who hadprofited greatly by the rise. All were winning, for all were buyingstocks in a bull market. They resembled each other marvelously, thesemen who differed so greatly in cast of features and complexion and age. Life to all of them was full of joy. The very ticker sounded mirthful;its clicking told of golden jokes. And Gilmartin and the other customerslaughed heartily at the mildest of stories without even waiting for thepoint of the joke. At times their fingers clutched the air happily, asif they actually felt the good money the ticker was presenting to them. They were all neophytes at the great game--lambkins who were bleatingblithely to inform the world what clever and formidable wolves theywere. Some of them had sustained occasional losses; but these weretrifling compared with their winnings. 

When the slump came all were heavily committed to the bull side. It wasa bad slump. It was so unexpected--by the lambs--that all of them said, very gravely, it came like a thunderclap out of a clear sky. While itlasted, that is, while the shearing of the flock was proceeding, itwas very uncomfortable. Those same joyous, winning stock-gamblers, with beaming faces, of the week before, were fear-clutched, losingstock-gamblers, with livid faces, on what they afterward called the dayof the panic. It really was only a slump; rather sharper than usual. Too many lambs had been over-speculating. The wholesale dealers insecurities--and insecurities--held very little of their own wares, having sold them to the lambs, and wanted them back now--cheaper. Thecustomers' eyes, as on happier days, were intent on the quotation board. Their dreams were rudely shattered; the fast horses some had allbut bought joined the steam yachts others almost had chartered. Thebeautiful homes they had been building were torn down in the twinklingof an eye. And the demolisher of dreams and dwellings was the ticker, that instead of golden jokes was now clicking financial death. Theycould not take their eyes from the board before them. Their own ruin, told in mournful numbers by the little machine, fascinated them. To besure, poor Gilmartin said: "I've changed my mind about Newport. I guessI'll spend the summer on my own _Hotel de Roof!_" And he grinned; buthe grinned alone. Wilson, the dry goods man, who laughed so joyously ateverybody's jokes, was now watching, as if under a hypnotic spell, thelips of the man who sat on the high stool beside the ticker and calledout the prices to the quotation boy. Now and again Wilson's own lipsmade curious grimaces, as if speaking to himself. Brown, the slender, pale-faced man, was outside in the hall, pacing to and fro. All waslost, including honor. And he was afraid to look at the ticker, afraidto hear the prices shouted, yet hoping--for a miracle! Gil-martin cameout from the office, saw Brown and said, with sickly bravado: "I heldout as long as I could. But they got _my_ ducats. A sporting life comeshigh, I tell you!" But Brown did not heed him, and Gilmartin pushed theelevator button impatiently and cursed at the delay. He not only hadlost the "paper" profits he had accumulated during the bull market, butall his savings of years had crumbled away beneath the strokes of theticker that day. It was the same with all. They would not take a smallloss at first, but had held on, in the hope of a recovery that would"let them out even. " And prices had sunk and sunk until the loss wasso great that it seemed only proper to hold on, if need be a year, forsooner or later prices must come back. But the break "shook them out, "and prices went just so much lower because so many people had to sellwhether they would or not. 

IV

After the slump most of the customers returned to their legitimatebusiness--sadder, but it is to be feared not much wiser men. Gilmartin, after the first numbing shock, tried to learn of fresh opportunities inthe drug business. But his heart was not in his search. There was theshame of confessing defeat in Wall Street so soon after leaving MaidenLane; but far stronger than this was the effect of the poison ofgambling. If it was bad enough to be obliged to begin lower than he hadbeen at Maxwell & Kip's, it was worse to condemn himself to long wearyyears of work in the drug business when his reward, if he remainedstrong and healthy, would consist merely in being able to save a fewthousands. But a few lucky weeks in the stock market would win him backall he had lost--and more!

He should have begun in a small way while he was learning to speculate. He saw it now very clearly. Every one of his mistakes had been due toinexperience. He had imagined he knew the market. But it was only nowthat he really knew it, and therefore it was only now, after the slumphad taught him so much, that he could reasonably hope to succeed. Hismind, brooding over his losses, definitely dismissed as futile theresumption of the purchase and sale of drugs, and dwelt persistently onthe sudden acquisition of stock market wisdom. Properly applied, thiswisdom ought to mean much to him. In a few weeks he was again spendinghis days before the quotation board, gossiping with those customers whohad survived, giving and receiving advice. And as time passed the gripof Wall Street on his soul grew stronger until it strangled all otheraspirations. He could talk, think, dream of nothing but stocks. He couldnot read the newspapers without thinking how the market would "take" thenews contained therein. If a huge refinery burned down, with a loss tothe "Trust" of $4, 000, 000, he sighed because he had not foreseen thecatastrophe and had sold Sugar short. If a strike by the men of theSuburban Trolley Company led to violence and destruction of life andproperty, he cursed an unrelenting Fate because he had not had theprescience to "put out" a thousand shares of Trolley. And he constantlycalculated to the last fraction of a point how much money he wouldhave made if he had sold short just before the calamity at the very topprices and had covered his stock at the bottom. Had he only known! Theatmosphere of the Street, the odor of speculation surrounded him on allsides, enveloped him like a fog, from which the things of the outsideworld appeared as though seen through a veil. He lived in the districtwhere men do not say "Good-morning" on meeting one another, but "How'sthe market?" or, when one asks: "How do you feel?" receives for ananswer: "Bullish!" or "Bearish!" instead of a reply regarding the stateof health. 

At first, after the fatal slump, Gilmartin importuned his brokers tolet him speculate on credit, in a small way. They did. They were kindlyenough men and sincerely wished to help him. But luck ran against him. With the obstinacy of unsuperstitious gamblers he insisted on fightingFate. He was a bull in a bear market; and the more he lost the morehe thought the inevitable "rally" in prices was due. He bought inexpectation of it and lost again and again, until he owed the brokers agreater sum than he could possibly pay; and they refused point blank togive him credit for another cent, disregarding his vehement entreatiesto buy a last hundred, just one more chance, the last, because he wouldbe sure to win. And, of course, the long-expected happened and themarket went up with a rapidity that made the Street blink; and Gilmartinfigured that had not the brokers refused his last order, he would havemade enough to pay off the indebtedness and have left, in addition, $2, 950; for he would have "pyramided" on the way up. He showed thebrokers his figures, accusingly, and they had some words about it andhe left the office, almost tempted to sue the firm for conspiracywith intent to defraud; but decided that it was "another of Luck'ssockdolagers" and let it go at that, gambler-like. 

When he returned to the brokers' office--the next day--he began tospeculate in the only way he could--vicariously. Smith, for instance, who was long of 500 St. Paul at 125, took less interest in the deal thandid Gilmartin, who thenceforth assiduously studied the news slipsand sought information on St. Paul all over the Street, listeningthrillingly to tips and rumors regarding the stock, suffering keenlywhen the price declined, laughing and chirruping blithely if thequotations moved upward, exactly as though it were his own stock. In ameasure it was as an anodyne to his ticker fever. Indeed, in some caseshis interest was so poignant and his advice so frequent--he would speakof _our_ deal--that the lucky winner gave him a small share of hisspoils, which Gilmartin accepted without hesitation--he was beyondpride-wounding by now--and promptly used to back some miniature dealof his own on the Consolidated Exchange or even in "Percy's"--a dingylittle bucket shop, where they took orders for two shares of stock ona margin of 1 per cent; that is, where a man could bet as little as twodollars. 

Later, it often came to pass that Gilmartin would borrow a few dollarswhen the customers were not trading actively. The amounts he borroweddiminished by reason of the increasing frequency of their refusals. Finally, he was asked to stay away from the office where once he hadbeen an honored and pampered customer. 

He became a Wall Street "has been" and could be seen daily on NewStreet, back of the Consolidated Exchange, where the "put" and "call"brokers congregate. The tickers in the saloons nearby fed his gambler'sappetite. From time to time luckier men took him into the samebe-tickered saloons, where he ate at the free lunch counters and drankbeer and talked stocks and listened to the lucky winners' narrativeswith lips tremulous with readiness to smile and grimace. At times thegambler in him would assert itself and he would tell the lucky winners, wrathfully, how the stock he wished to buy but couldn't the week beforehad risen 18 points. But they, saturated with their own ticker fever, would nod absently, their soul's eyes fixed on some quotation-to-be; orthey would not nod at all, but in their eagerness to look at the tape, from which they had been absent two long minutes, would leave himwithout a single word of consolation or even of farewell. 

V

One day, in New Street, he overheard a very well-known broker tellanother that Mr. Sharpe was "going to move up Pennsylvania Central rightaway. " The overhearing of the conversation was a bit of rare good luckthat raised Gil-martin from his sodden apathy and made him hasten to hisbrother-in-law, who kept a grocery store in Brooklyn. He implored Griggsto go to a broker and buy as much Pennsylvania Central as he could--thatis, if he wished to live in luxury the rest of his life. Sam Sharpe wasgoing to put it up. Also, he borrowed ten dollars. 

Griggs was tempted. He debated with himself many hours, and at lengthyielded with misgivings. He took his savings and bought one hundredshares of Pennsylvania Central at 64, and began to neglect his businessin order to study the financial pages of the newspapers. Little bylittle Gilmartin's whisper set in motion within him the wheels of aticker that printed on his day-dreams the mark of the dollar. His wife, seeing him preoccupied, thought business was bad; but Griggs deniedit, confirming her worst fears. Finally, he had a telephone put in hislittle shop, to be able to talk to his broker. 

Gilmartin, with the ten dollars he had borrowed, promptly bought tenshares in a bucket shop at 63%; the stock promptly went to 62%; he waspromptly "wiped"; and the stock promptly went back to 64%. 

On the next day a fellow-customer of Gilmartin of old days invited himto have a drink. Gil-martin resented the man's evident prosperity. Hefelt indignant at the ability of the other to buy hundreds of shares. But the liquor soothed him, and in a burst of mild remorse he toldSmithers, after an apprehensive look about him as if he feared some onemight overhear: "I'll tell you something, on the dead q. T. , for yourown benefit. "

"Fire away!"

"Pa. Cent, is going 'way up. "

"Yes?" said Smithers, calmly. 

"Yes; it will cross par sure. "

"Umph!" between munches of a pretzel. 

"Yes. Sam Sharpe told"--Gilmartin was on the point of saying a "friendof mine, " but caught himself and went on, impressively--"told me, yesterday, to buy Pa. Cent. , as he had accumulated his full line, andwas ready to whoop it up. And you know what Sharpe is, " he finished, asif he thought Smithers was familiar with Sharpe's powers. 

"Is that so, " nibbled Smithers. 

"Why, when Sharpe makes up his mind to put up a stock, as he intends todo with Pa. Cent. , nothing on earth can stop him. He told me he wouldmake it cross par within sixty days. This is no hearsay, no tip. It'scold facts, I don't _hear_ it's going up; I don't _think_ it's going up;I _know_ it's going up. Understand?" And he shook his right forefingerwith a hammering motion. 

In less than five minutes Smithers was so wrought up that he bought 500shares and promised solemnly not to "take his profits, " s. O. Sell out, until Gilmartin said the word. Then they had another drink and anotherlook at the ticker. 

"You want to keep in touch with me, " was Gilmartin's parting shot. "I'll tell you what Sharpe tells me. But you must keep it quiet, " with asidewise nod that pledged Smithers to honorable secrecy. 

Had Gilmartin met Sharpe face to face, he would not have known who wasbefore him. 

Shortly after he left Smithers he buttonholed another acquaintance, a young man who thought he knew Wall Street, and therefore had ahobby--manipulation. No one could induce him to buy stocks by tellinghim how well the companies were doing, how bright the prospects, etc. That was bait for "suckers, " not for clever young stock operators. But any one, even a stranger, who said that "they"--the perenniallymysterious "they, " the "big men, " the mighty "manipulators" whoselife was one prolonged conspiracy to pull the wool over the public'seyes--"they" were going to "jack up" these or the other shares, waswelcomed and his advice acted upon. Young Freeman believed in nothingbut "their" wickedness and "their" power to advance or depress stockvalues at will. Thinking of his wisdom had given him a chronic sneer. 

"You're just the man I was looking for, " said Gilmartin, who hadn'tthought of the young man at all. 

"Are you a deputy sheriff?"

"No. " A slight pause for oratorical effect. "I had a long talk with Samto-day. "

"What Sam?"

"Sharpe. The old boy sent for me. He was in mighty good humortoo. Tickled to death. He might well be--he's got 60, 000 shares ofPennsylvania Central. And there's going to be from 50 to 60 pointsprofit in it. "

"H'm!" sniffed Freeman, sceptically, yet impressed by the change InGilmartin's attitude from the money-borrowing humility of the previousweek to the confident tone of a man with a straight tip. Sharpe wasnotoriously kind to his old friends--rich or poor. 

"I was there when the papers were signed, " Gilmartin said, hotly. "Iwas going to leave the room, but Sam told me I needn't. I can't tell youwhat it is about; really I can't. But he's simply going to put the stockabove par. It's 64 1/2 now, and you know and I know that by the time itis 75 the newspapers will all be talking about inside buying; and at 85everybody will want to buy it on account of important developments; andat 95 there will be millions of bull tips on it and rumors of increaseddividends, and people who would not look at it thirty points lower willrush in and buy it by the bushel. Let me know who is manipulating astock, and to h--l with dividends and earnings. Them's _my_ sentiments, "with a final hammering nod, as if driving in a profound truth. 

"Same here, " assented Freeman, cordially. He was attacked on hisvulnerable side. 

Strange things happen in Wall Street. Sometimes tips come true. It soproved in this case. Sharpe started the stock upward brilliantly--themovement became historic in the Street--and Pa. Cent, soared dizzily andall the newspapers talked of it and the public went mad over it andit touched 80 and 85 and 88 and higher, and then Gilmartin made hisbrother-in-law sell out and Smithers and Freeman. Their profits were:Griggs, $8, 000; Smithers, $15, 100; Freeman, $2, 750. Gilmartin made themgive him a good percentage. He had no trouble with his brother-in-law. Gilmartin told him it was an inviolable Wall Street custom and so Griggspaid, with an air of much experience in such matters. Freeman was moreor less grateful. But Smithers met Gilmartin, and full of his good luckrepeated what he had told a dozen men within the hour: "I did a dandystroke the other day. Pa. Cent. Looked to me like higher prices and Ibought a wad of it. I've cleaned up a tidy sum, " and he looked proud ofhis own penetration. He really had forgotten that it was Gilmartin whohad given him the tip. But not so Gilmartin, who retorted, witheringly:

"Well, I've often heard of folks that you put into good things and theymake money and afterward they come to you and tell how damned smartthey were to hit it right. But you can't work that on me. I've gotwitnesses. "

"Witnesses?" echoed Smithers, looking cheap. He remembered. 

"Yes, wit-ness-es, " mimicked Gilmartin, scornfully, "I all but had toget on my knees to make you buy it. And I told you when to sell it, too. The information came to me straight from headquarters and you gotthe use of it, and now the least you can do is to give me twenty-fivehundred dollars. "

In the end he accepted eight hundred dollars. He told mutual friendsthat Smithers had cheated him. 

VI

It seemed as though the regeneration of Gilmartin had been achievedwhen he changed his shabby raiment for expensive clothes. He paid histradesmen's bills and moved into better quarters. He spent his money asthough he had made millions. One week after he had closed out the dealhis friends would have sworn Gilmartin had always been prosperous. Thatwas his exterior. His inner self remained the same--a gambler. He beganto speculate again, in the office of Freeman's brokers. 

At the end of the second month he had lost not only the $1, 200 he haddeposited with the firm, but an additional $250 he had given his wifeand had been obliged to "borrow" back from her, despite her assurancesthat he would lose it. This time the slump was really unexpected byall, even by the magnates--the mysterious and all-powerful "they" ofFreeman's--so that the loss of the second fortune did not reflect onGilmartin's ability as a speculator, but on his luck. As a matterof fact, he had been too careful and had sinned from over-timidity atfirst, only to plunge later and lose all. 

As the result of much thought about his losses Gilmartin became aprofessional tipster. To let others speculate for him seemed the onlysure way of winning. He began by advising ten victims--he learned intime to call them clients--to sell Steel Rod preferred, each man 100shares; and to a second ten he urged the purchase of the same quantityof the same stock. To all he advised taking four points' profit. Not allfollowed his advice, but the seven clients who sold it made between themnearly $3, 000 overnight. His percentage amounted to $287. 50. Six bought, and when they lost he told them confidentially how the treachery of aleading member of the pool had obliged the pool managers to withdrawtheir support from the stock temporarily, whence the decline. Theygrumbled; but he assured them that he himself had lost nearly $1, 600 ofhis own on account of the traitor. 

For some months Gilmartin made a fair living, but business became verydull. People learned to fight shy of his tips. The persuasiveness wasgone from his inside news and from his confidential advice from Sharpeand from his beholding with his own eyes the signing of epoch-makingdocuments. Had he been able to make his customers alternate theirwinnings and losses he might have kept his trade. But, for example, "Dave" Rossiter, in Stuart & Stern's office, stupidly received thewrong tip six times in succession. It wasn't Gilmartin's fault, butRossiter's bad luck. 

At length, failing to get enough clients in the ticker district itself, Gilmartin was forced to advertise in an afternoon paper, six times aweek, and in the Sunday edition of one of the leading morning dailies. They ran like this:

 WE MAKE MONEY

 for our Investors by the best system ever devised. Deal with genuine experts. Two methods of operating; one speculative, the other ensures absolute safety. 

 NOW

 is the time to invest in a certain stock for ten points sure profit Three points margin will carry it. Remember how correct we have been on other stocks. Take advantage of this move. 

 IOWA MIDLAND. 

 Big movement coming in this stock. If s very near at hand. Am waiting daily for word. Will get it in time. Splendid opportunity to make big money. It costs only a 2-cent stamp to write to me. 

 CONFIDENTIAL INFORMATION. 

 Private secretary of banker and stock operator of world-wide reputation has valuable information. I don't wish your money. Use your own broker. All I want is a share of what you will surely make if you follow my advice. 

 WILL ADVANCE $40 PER SHARE. 

 A fortune to be made in a railroad stock. Deal pending which will advance same $40 per share within three months. Am in position to keep informed as to developments and the operations of a pool. Parties who will carry for me 100 shares with a New York Stock Exchange house will receive the full benefit of information. Investment safe and sure. Highest references given. 

He prospered amazingly. Answers came to him from furniture dealers onFourth Avenue and dairymen up the State and fruit growers in Delawareand factory workers in Massachusetts and electricians in New Jersey andcoal miners in Pennsylvania and shopkeepers and physicians and plumbersand undertakers in towns and cities near and far. Every morningGilmartin telegraphed to scores of people--at their expense--to sell, and to scores of others to buy the same stocks. And he claimed hiscommissions from the winners. 

Little by little his savings grew; and with them grew his desire tospeculate on his own account. It made him irritable not to gamble. 

He met Freeman one day in one of his dissatisfied moods. Out ofpoliteness he asked the young cynic the universal query of the Street:

"What do you think of 'em?" He meant stocks. 

"What difference does it make what I think?" sneered Freeman, withproud humility. "I'm nobody. " But he looked as if he did not agree withhimself. 

"What do you _know?_" pursued Gilmartin mollifyingly. 

"I know enough to be long of Gotham Gas. I just bought a thousand sharesat 180. " He really had bought a hundred only. 

"What on?"

"On information. I got it straight from a director of the company. Lookhere, Gilmartin, I'm pledged to secrecy. But, for your own benefit, I'lljust tell you to buy all the Gas you possibly can carry. The deal is on. I know that certain papers were signed last night, and they are almostready to spring it on the public. They haven't got all the stock theywant. When they get it, look out for fireworks. "

Gilmartin did not perceive any resemblance between Freeman's tips andhis own. 

He said, hesitatingly, as though ashamed of his timidity:

"The stock seems pretty high at 180. "

"You won't think so when it sells at 250. Gilmartin, I don't _hear_this; I don't _think_ it; I _know_ it!"

"All right; I'm in, " quoth Gilmartin, jovially. He felt a sense ofemancipation now that he had made up his mind to resume his speculating. He took every cent of the nine hundred dollars he had made from tellingpeople the same things that Freeman told him now, and bought a hundredGotham Gas at $185 a share. Also he telegraphed to all his clients toplunge in the stock. 

It fluctuated between 184 and 186 for a fortnight. Freeman dailyasseverated that "they" were accumulating the stock. But, one fine day, the directors met, agreed that business was bad, and having sold outmost of their own holdings, decided to reduce the dividend rate from 8to 6 per cent. Gotham Gas broke seventeen points in ten short minutes. Gilmartin lost all he had. He found it impossible to pay for hisadvertisements. The telegraph companies refused to accept any more"collect" messages. This deprived Gilmartin of his income as a tipster. Griggs had kept on speculating and had lost all his money and his wife'sin a little deal in Iowa Midland. All that Gilmartin could hope to getfrom him was an occasional invitation to dinner. Mrs. Gilmartin, afterthey were dispossessed for non-payment of rent, left her husband, andwent to live with a sister in Newark who did not like Gilmartin. 

His clothes became shabby and his meals irregular. But always in hisheart, as abiding as an inventor's faith in himself, there dwelt thehope that some day, somehow, he would "strike it rich" in the stockmarket. 

One day he borrowed five dollars from a man who had made five thousandin Cosmopolitan Traction. The stock, the man said, had only begun to goup, and Gilmartin believed it and bought five shares in "Percy's, " hisfavorite bucket shop. The stock began to rise slowly but steadily. Thenext afternoon "Percy's" was raided, the proprietor having disagreedwith the police as to price. 

Gilmartin lingered about New Street, talking with other customers of theraided bucket shop, discussing whether or not it was a "put up job" ofold Percy himself, who, it was known, had been losing money to the crowdfor weeks past. One by one the victims went away and at length Gilmartinleft the ticker district. He walked slowly down Wall Street, then turnedup William Street, thinking of his luck. Cosmopolitan Traction hadcertainly looked like higher prices. Indeed, it seemed to him that hecould almost hear the stock shouting, articulately: "_I'm going up, rightaway, right away!_" If somebody would buy a thousand shares and agree togive him the profits on a hundred, on ten, on one!

But he had not even his carfare. Then he remembered that he had noteaten since breakfast. It did him no good to remember it now. He wouldhave to get his dinner from Griggs in Brooklyn. 

"Why, " Gilmartin told himself with a burst of curious self-contempt, "Ican't even buy a cup of coffee!"

He raised his head and looked about him to find how insignificant arestaurant it was in which he could not buy even a cup of coffee. Hehad reached Maiden Lane. As his glance ran up and down the north side ofthat street, it was arrested by the sign:

 MAXWELL & KIP

At first he felt but vaguely what it meant. It had grown unfamiliarwith absence. The clerks were coming out. Jameson, looking crustier thanever, as though he were forever thinking how much better than Jenkins hecould run the business; Danny, some inches taller, no longer an officeboy, but spick and span in a blue serge suit and a necktie of the lateststyle, exhaling health and correctness; Williamson, grown very gray andshowing on his face thirty years of routine; Baldwin, happy as ofyore at the ending of the day's work, and smiling at the words ofJenkins--Gilmartin's successor, who wore an air of authority, of thehabit of command which he had not known in the old days. 

Of a sudden Gilmartin was in the midst of his old life. He saw all thathe had been, all that he might still be. And he was overwhelmed. Helonged to rush to his old associates, to speak to them, to shake handswith them, to be the old Gilmartin. He was about to step toward Jenkins, but stopped abruptly. His clothes were shabby, and he felt ashamed. But, he apologized to himself, he could tell them how he had made a hundredthousand and had lost it. And he even might borrow a few dollars fromJenkins. 

Gilmartin turned on his heel with a sudden impulse and walked away fromMaiden Lane quickly. All that he thought now was that he would nothave them see him in his plight. He felt the shabbiness of his clotheswithout looking at them. As he walked, a great sense of loneliness cameover him. 

He was back in Wall Street. At the head of the Street was old Trinity;to the right the Sub-Treasury; to the left the Stock Exchange. 

From Maiden Lane to the Lane of the Ticker--such had been his life. 

"If I could only buy some Cosmopolitan Traction!" he said. Then hewalked forlornly northward, to the great bridge, on his way to Brooklyn, to eat with Griggs, the ruined grocery man.