Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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1 \ "You were tHlinp me about Cynthia’s father,” said Dallas. “Oh, yes.” said Mrs. Bennett, takinp up the thread of her tale. “He was looked on as one of the most honorable bankers In the city. And so he was until his misfortune.” “Misfortune?" "More misfortune than crime. His wife v.-as a pirlhnod friend of mine, so perhaps 1 am prejudiced In his favor. A famous financier—a dear friend of his—induced him to make a very largo loan that proved to be a mistake. He . went to the financier for advice as to how to recoup the loss. The financier told him of an investment by which he could pet all the money back with out any risk and could make pood the loan. Mr. Garrison took his advice, used the bank’s funds for the purpose and—the investment proved worthless. The bank was insolvent. Mr. Garrison shot himself.” “Horrible! Horrible!” murmured Dallas. “The ‘horrible’ part of the whole story came out later.” said Alwyu Bennett. “It seems the financier had deliberately ruined Mr. Garrison and was on the other side of the deal by which the bank’s funds were lost. In other words, he persuaded his friend to put money in what he knew was a losing venture, then took that money himself." “He did it willfully,” chimed in Mrs. Bennett, “knowing his friend would be ruined and that the bank’s money which he lured Mr. Garrison into in vesting was going to swell his own ill gotten fortune.” “I did not -think any one lived who could do such things.” shuddered Dal las. “Poor Cynthia!” •“Cynthia suffered least of all,” said Mrs. Bennett. “She was little more than a child at the time. Her mother died of grief, and her brother—a prom ising, clever young fellow just enter ing college—disappeared.” “Deserted Cynthia?” “Not so bad as that He probably went away sooner than face his fa ther's disgrace and began life some where far from home. That was nine years ago, yet ever since then he sends Cynthia a little money every month— not much, hut no doubt all he can scrape together above his bare living expenses. She has tried in every way to get in touch with him, but she can’t locate him anywhere. There is no clew except that monthly money order. I never knew him very well—in fact, 1 only saw him once or twice—but I’ve heard he was a fine, manly boy. The shock must have been worst of all on him.” “So a man lost his good name and his life, his wife died, his son’s life was wrecked and his daughter impov erished,” mused Dallas, “and all that a financier might grow a little richer. I can’t believe it!” A little ashamed of displaying such vehemence in the presence of one of her uncle’s dependents, the girl glanced toward the table. But the secretary had gone. “My husband,” prattled Mrs. Bennett complacently, “always said that the men who rose highest In the money world reached their lofty places over the despoiled bodies of hundreds of victims. Thank God, my boy has no auch parental record to look back on. My husband was one man In a mil lion—the soul of honor both in busi ness and in private life. You’ve rehd of his splendid civil war record. Then he went into business as a contractor and engineer and earned a fortune, every dollar of which was honest. That’s something to be proud of in these money loving times.” “What was the name of the financier who ruined Mr. Garrison?” asked Dal las, still haunted by the narrative she had just heard. “No one knows. It was suppressed at the time. The facts in the written confession left by M . Garrison be came public property; but, through po litical influence,-the name of the man responsible for the tragedy was sup pressed. Here I sit chatting on dole ful topics, while those two young peo ple are running all over the place un- ebaperoned. Excuse me, won’t you, and I’ll look them up?” Bhe smiled at Alwyn as she left the room, and his answering smile showed how fully he understood and appre ciated her motive in leaving him alone with Dallas Wainwright. Perhaps Dal las, too, understood, for she made as though to follow Mrs. Bennett out into the lawn. But Alwyn stepped between her and tbe window. “Dmi’t go Just yet,” he begged. "I’ve ao much to talk over with you. When they came in we were speaking of that paragraph about Gibbs and yourself. Tou don’t love him, do you, Dallas? Tell me you don’t!” “What right have yon to ask me snch • question?” ‘ “Only tbe right that my love for you gives me, dear heart. You must have known I loved you even though I’ve sever said It before. I love you, Dal las, though till today, I think, I never realized how much. Tell me It Isn’t true that you’re going to marry Gibbs.” “Even if it weren’t true I should not Barry you, Alwyn.” “Ah!” The exclamation was wrung uacon- adoualy from his whitening lips. It was as thongb a pang of physical pain bad pierced him. . "I wouldn’t marry you,” went on Dallas, though fiaore gently, “because yon don’t really love me.” "I do! I do! With my whole heart, r- “Oh, Alwyn!” she exclaimed with ai- Bost mother-like tolerance, “what a child you are! What a mere child! gome one tries to take away from you a plaything you’ve grown used to hav ing. You never cared especially about the plaything before; but, now that jon're In danger of losing It, you cry •at: ’Oh, I love It! I love It!’ You’ll soon find another toy that’ll make you forget”— “Dallas, you are unfair! Yon have no right to treat my love for you as lf”- “As If It were a mere whim? Isn’t it? Now. don't say ‘No.’ but look me in the eyes and answer one question, if Scott Gibbs hadn’t proposed to me— If that paragraph bad not appeared in the paper—would you have come here today and told me you loved me? No. you know you wouldn’t!” “Don’t talk like that, dear!” implored Benr.ett. “1 toli you 1 love you! More than I ever dre-mod a wojnan could lie loved. I love you! I”— “There’s an easy way to prove It. then.” “What way? Anything”— “By doing something to make me feel proud of you. I don’t feel so now. I could not marry a man who loiters his life away—a man who sits idle while others are thronging past him in the upward climb. You are rich, thanks to your father's efforts. What have you done with that wealth? If you’ve done no harm with it you’ve at least put it to no good use. You are young, talented, highly educated. What have you doue with your youth, your talents, your education? How have you used them for your own bet terment or for your fellow men’s? What have you to offer me? Money? Social position? 1 have plenty of both. What else can you offer me? Nothing —absolutely nothing.” “My love, for one thing. I can offer you that.” “In what is your love better than any other man’s? Behind it is not a record of hard work, of self sacrifice, of achievement—of any of the things that go toward making love strong and enduring and beautiful—to make it a support that a woman can lean on for life? What have you to offer me or any other woman?” There was a silence. Yet when Ben nett spoke there was a new note in his voice—a ring of awakening strength that impressed Dallas in spite of her self—that sent a wholly strange thrill through her and set her heart to beat ing with unwonted quickness. “You arc right,” said he. “I have done nothing. I've been content to be a rich man’s son, and I’ve nothing to offer that is worthy your acceptance, but that does not mean I never shall have. And by the grace of God I shall! You’ve put things in a new light. I see them as I never did. It isn’t a wholly pleasant experience, but it’s good for me. There’s nothing yet that I’m fitted to do, but I’ll find something, never fear. And when I do”— “Don’t say there's nothing you’re fit for,” protested Dallas. “There's- noth ing you couldn’t accomplish if once you set yourself to it. Why, just think of those speeches you made for Mr. Lorimer last campaign. They were fine. I was so”— “Oh, those amounted to nothing. 1 Just did It to oblige him. And, be sides, it was fun to sway the crowds.” “That’s just It. You did it for fun and for a friend. Why not do some thing in earnest and for yourself? The world is fairly bristling with oppor tunities for such a man as you. Grasp those opportunities. Won’t you?” Yes! And when I do—is there any hope that you will?” "I have given Mr. Gibbs no promise. I told him to wait.” Then my chance is as good as his. From now on I am going to drop the role of rich man’s son and be some thing on my own account. If you have faith in me—if you believe in me—if there is a ghost of a chance that you can some day love me”— 1 have faith in you, Alwyn,” she answered softly, letting her hand lie passive in his grasp. Then, withdraw ing it with a pretty gesture of petu lance, she added: Only I wish it didn’t always re quire a blow to rouse you to action. Did you ever happen to notice that trait in yourself?” "Why, no. I don’t quite understand.” “Then here’s an instance that will show you what I mean: In your senior year at Yale when you were playing halfback on the varsity eleven I saw my first football game. It was against Princeton. You were the only man on either team I knew, so I watched you from first to last. Little as I understood foot ball, I could see you were play ing a clever, hard, cohsclen- tious game. But It wasn’t a fight ing game — not the sort of game that carries ev erything before It Then, In the second half, in one of the scrim mages I saw a Princeton man strike you. Ob, It was a das tardly, cowardly blow! He struck you when your head waa turned away. You saw who It was. and you made no appeal to the referee, bat In the next scrimmage you broke that man’s collar bone and stunned him. He was carried sense less from tha field, and you kept on. You had began to play a fighting game, and it carried you through the Prlncetou line for the only touchdown of the day. You won the game for Yale. You were the college hero—the man of the hour. But It took a blow to rouse you. Now do you under- stand?” ’Tea, I think I da Perhaps you’re right I certainly remember tbe blow well enough. Do you happen to know who It was that struck me that day on tbe football field?” 9 “No. I knew none of the players ex cept you.’ Who”— “It was Gibbs ” '“No!” & i \vri A —V “You we re the college hero —the man of the hour.” “I’m not likely to have forgotten. Ask biin yourself. He will remember it. I fancy. It was* a week before he left the inflrnnry.’’ ••But I can’t realize that Mr. Gibbs would do such a thing! It was so eownrdly. so’’— “Oh. don’t hold it against him. He was excited iitul’’— “Tell Mr. Phelan I’ll sec him In the library,” called Wainwright from the hall. ••More politics!” exclaimed Dallas. “Gome, shall we go out to the tennis court?” They passed through the open French window as Wainwright and Gibbs en 1 tered the library from the opposite door. “The alderman’s a little behind time.’’ said Wainwright. “lie’s a charticter in his way. You’ll be interested in meet ing him, Gibbs.” “Mr. Phelan.” announced the butler. “I know my own name, son,” re marked a voice behind him. “You needn’t go hollerin’ it at me like I was bein' ratified at an east side meeting. Momiii’, Mr. Wainwright. Maybe it was you he was hollerin’ at.” “You're a little late, alderman,” said the financier. “I always am. Let the other feller do the waitin’. That’s my motto, and many a good hour's time I’ve saved by it. Who’s your friend?” “Mr. Gibbs of Gibbs & Norton. Mr Gibbs, this is Alderman Phelan.” “Of the Eighth," amended Phelan. "Only man. to carry his ward last elec tion runnin’ independent. Pleased to meet you. Yes, sir, I ran independent, and I win, as Wainwright here can tell you. Ilorrigan’s out against me this year, and he’s got carried away by some fool idea that he can down me next campaign.” “Can he?” asked Gibbs politely, bored. “Can he?” roared Phelan, his close clipped hair a-bristle. "Can he? Can Ing the chief reasons for his success. Tall, stout, square of jaw, square of brow, hard of mouth, he seemed to dominate his very surroundings and to exhale n rough forcefulness that car ried all before It. His physiognomy was essentially that of the born tighter as well ns leader — the man that nei ther gives nor asks quarter. From the days when as a ferry ticket seller he bad laid the foundations of his later for- ••w 7 For a moment the enemies faced each other. policeman, con tractor, politician and boss, he had fought his way ever to the front by that same force, backed by a bulldog pluck, a genius for organization and a mentality wholly devoid of scruple and conscience. It could not be said of Richard Hor- rigan that his morals were bad. He simply had no morals at all. By con tact with men of higher culture than his own he had lost his early incorrect- who bad observed the glance exchang ed between the two men, grudgingly attempted to soften the. effect of his brusqueness. "I didn't mean to snub your friend,” ■aid he, “but Phelan riled me. and I took It out on the next man 1 spoke to. What on earth set you to having Phe lan here to meet me for, anyway?" “Just as I said. I wanted to win him over to us. We will need every strong man we can get this fall. We”— “You know a lot about finance, Mr Wainwright. But you’re a rank out sider In politics or you’d never have made such a break. 1 canft compro mise with Phelan even if I wanted to. He’s stood out against me, and I’ve got to smash him. If he could defy me tunes byiand away with It, other leaders "knocking down i would think they could do it, too, and fares,” u p ! 1“ * ess than no time the organization through his va- i would be split up into a dozen factions, ried career as ; an< l- r d be down and out. Understand? I’ve got to look out for discipline if I’m to hold the place I’ve won. When a man in the organization starts a tight against me, I must down him. There’s no turning back. That’s why I’m boss. Every man in the crowd knows he’s got to obey me or fight me and that if it’s fight it’s a battle to tbe death. And he's the mau who does the dying, not I. Now. you understand? So we can get to business. What”— But business seemed this morning , . .... . rri* fated to many interruptions. The lat- ness and vulgarity of speech. His dom- , . v- . , „„„„ v,o,i ! est came in the form of Judge New- ineeriug roughness of manner he had _ ineeriug roughness no wish to lose. It was by far too val uable an asset. “Good morning, Mr. Wainwright,” began Horrigan, with a breezy fa miliarity, as he strode into the library, quite unabashed at finding himself in the presence of the dreaded finance king. “I’m a bit ahead of time, but”— He stopped short, with a grunt of rage. His eyes had fallen on Phelan. Bristling like a plucky terrier at the onset of a mastiff, the alderman stood his ground, giving the boss glare for glare. And so for a moment the enemies faced each other. A CHAPTER III. H ORRIGAN was first to break the tense silence. “What’s this here for?” he growled, indicating Phelan with a contemptuous jerk of the head and addressing no one in particular. “Ask your friend Wainwright,” grunted Phelan, with equal roughness. “I—you see,” began Wainwright con- dliatingly, “I didn’t like to see two such first rate chaps at odds with each other, so I wanted to bring you to gether here to”— “Oh, you did, did you?” sneered Hor- right. man, who, bustling into the room with all his customary pompous dignity, suddenly stopped in' his tracks and wilted at sight of the boss. “Good morning, Mr. Horrigan,” said the judge ingratiatingly, wriggling un der the boss’ glower. “I hope I’m not here too early and that Mr. Wain wright has Interceded for"— “For your renomiuation?” queried Horrigan, speaking as though to a dis graced servant “If that’s what you’re here for you might have spared your self the trouble. What I told you be fore still goes.” “But, Mr. Horrigan, consider how long I’ve been on the bench, and”— “And it’s time you got your nose out of the feed bag and gave some one else a chance. You are’’— “I’m growing old, Mr. Horrigan!” pleaded the thoroughly cowed judge. “How can I go back to law practice and compete with younger men? Be sides, Mrs. Newman declares”— “I can’t help that,” returned Horri gan, quite unmoved. “You’ve had your share. We’ve got to look out for our own active workers—for the men we can count on to do the right thing.” “Rut, Mr. Horrigan," protested the judge, “I always try to do what is fop point I’m getting at: As soon as flection is safely over the I»>rough Street railway will apply for a fran- hisc for a car lino from Blank avenue to Dash street along the river front.’’ "I see!" nodded Horrigan. “And. as von own the City Surface line and as (hat is tiie Borough Street railway’s worst rival, you want the Borough’s franchise bill killed when it comes be fore the board of aldermen." “You’re wrong. To paraphrase your jwn words, you know a lot about poli ties. I want the Borough Street rail way’s franchise granted, and I want the franchise to be perpetual.” | “But I don’t see what your driving it. If you intend to merge the Borough Street railway with your ow n City Sur face line its charter will become void.” “I don’t mean to merge them. I own both roads, and I run them separately.” "The you do!" “That’s a little surprise, eh? I haven’t made any parade of it. I just went quietly to work, through Gibbs, and bought up a majority of the Bor ough stock. Now don’t you see how the granting of the franchise and the news that I control the road will work when they are made known?” “Sure! It’ll send that stock sky high. You’ll scoop in a million or two.” “A million or two!” echoed Wain wright scornfully. “Nearer”— “Hold on!” interrupted Horrigan “What’s that noise?” He had jumped to his feet with an alacrity that was surprising in so large a man and was listening intently. “That clicking?” asked Wainwright. “Oh. that’s only the private wire !u my oiiice.” “Private wire? Any operator?” “Of course. Why?” “Suppose lie should happen to be listening to us?” “Who? Thompson? Absurd!” “I don’t know. I’d rather”— "Nonsense. It’s Thompson, my pri vate secretary, a man who’s been with me nine years. I trust him as”— “But I don’t. I don’t trust anybody. Send him into some other room.” “1 can’t. In his absence some im portant message might come, and if be wasn’t there on the very moment to transmit it to me I might lose thou sands. He’s all right if ever a man was. I trust him implicitly.” “Oh. all right, then. Go on with what you were saying.” "I want tin- Borough Street railway I franchise made perpetual. Catch my drift?” “Sure. But the papers and the prop erty holders will make a big kick.” I n Alderman Phelan. chesty Dick Horrigan down Alderman Jimmy Phelan? Well! Nothin’ to it, son. When I’m through with Dick Horrigan he’ll have worried himself so thin they’ll have to wear glasses to shave him. I’ll bury him so deep this fall that they’ll never find him till they start diggin’ a subway to China.” “You seem pretty confident,” observ ed Gibbs. / “Confident? Why not? Why not, I ask you? Why wouldn’t I be confident? Is there a voter in the ward—black, white, yellow or greenhorn—that I can’t call by his first name and ask after all his children by name? Is there a voter in the ward I haven’t staked to coal or outings or bail or booze? Is there? If so, name him to me. Put a name to him. They’re my friends twelve months of every year, not Just at election time. Horrigan, Indeed! Say, If he starts runnin’ any man in my ward he’ll have to sight him by a tree to see if he’s makin’ any progress or not Horrigan, hey?” “Come, come, alderman,” interposed Wainwright. “Why don’t .you and Horrigan smoke the pipe of peace? Why”- “The only pipe me an’ Dick Horrigan will ever come together over will be a yard of lead pipe, an’ my fist will be at one end of that an’ his thick head at th’ other.” “But” remonstrated Wainwright, “he is a strong man. Is it safe to fight him?” “Why isn’t It? He’a got to come Into the Eighth to lick me, and he’ll be about as strong there as a barkeep’s In fluence with the Prohibition party. Besides, I like a fight I’m the original ’Stop, look and listen’ signal at Trouble station. I”— “As a personal favor to me, alder man,” wheedled Mr. Wainwright in his most persuasive manner, “won’t you make a friend of Horrigan?” “I’d gladly oblige you by makin’ a fine, fashionable, rollickin’ funeral of him, but friends—frienda”— “But if I asked him here to meet you wouldn’t you try to be cordial to him?” “I sure would—as cordial as a bank rupt to a rent collector. He’d be as pretty near as welcome as a broken leg.” “I’m sorry you look at It that way, alderman, because I’ve asked him to day.” “To come here? Quit your joshinT’ “But he doesn’t know he’ll meet you.” “An’ he'll never ’find it out, for I’m on my way. I’d sooner meet a p’rade from th’ contagion hospital.” “Of course, If you’re really afraid of Mm”— , “Afraid of him!” snorted Phelan, coming to a full stop at the door and then returning to tbe middle of tbe room. “Afraid of Dick Horrigan! Show me the man I’m afraid to meet and 111 meet him with pleaaore just to show you it’a a lie. Am for"— “Mr. Horrigan T’ came the butler’s announcement from tbe threshold. Tbe man who followed the announce ment waa one who carried in bis bear- rigan. “And what did Phelan say to that little plan?” I “I said,” snapped Phelan before his host could reply—“I said I’d see you in first!” "Same here, twice over!” said Hor rigan. “But,” interposed Wainwright coax- ingly, “is there no way”— “No,” retorted Horrigan. his deep voice rumbling far down in bis throat. “There isn’t. Look here, Phelan! I’m out for your scalp, and I’m going to get It!” “Come on. look for it!” crowed Phe lan, fairly hopping up and down In rage and excitement. “Come a-runnin’! An’ while you’re huntin’ my scalp don’t, overlook one bet. I’m after yours!” “Mine, you little shrimp! Why”— “Yes, yours. Horrigan, you cur. You’re pretty chesty an’ strong stand- in’ on the top of the organization, but you’re no bloomin’ statue of Liberty. You can be tom down, and here’s the man who’s goin’ to do the tearin’. Me—Alderman Jimmy Phelan of the Eighth!” “Let it go at that for now. You’ll wake up in the fall, when the elec- tion”— “Let it go at that for keeps. I”— “I said ‘the right thing,’ ” corrected the boss. “See the difference?” “Excuse me, • judge,” intervened Wainwright "If you’ll leave this mat ter in my hands, I will try to convince Mr. Horrigan of your fitness. Just leave it all to me.” "Oh, thank you so much, Charles!” cried the relieved judge. “I’m sure I can count on you. Mrs. Newman will be so grateful. Well, I won’t detain you any longer. Goodby.” “Goodby, judge,” answered Wain wright tolerantly. “Goodby, Mr. Horrigan,” went on Judge Newman, with effusion. A grunt from Horrigan, who had turned his broad back on the visitor, was the only reply, and the judge de parted to bear the message of hope to Mrs. Newman. “Have you any special objections to Newman?” asked Wainwright. “No,” said Horrigan, “except I 4hlnk perhaps there’s men who can do better by us. You know how much it means sometimes to have the right judge han dle your case.” “I think at a pinch we can manage Newman, and”— “Oh, if it is a favor to you, all right But it doesn’t do those Judiciary fel lows any barm to keep them guessing /j f-'j. w • \ “Mr. Wainwright,” broke off Horri- i awhile, it tames ’em and teaches ’em gan, ‘if this was the business you to mind—sort of keeps them in their wanted to talk over with me here”— “It isn’t” assured the thoroughly un comfortable financier. “Oh! Then we can get down to real | business perhaps when this fellow's gone.” “That lets me out,” observed Phelan cheerfully as he picked up his hat. “G’by, Mr. Wainwright G’by. Mr. Gibbs. Horrigan, I’ll”— “But you’ll stay to lunch, alderman, i won’t you?” urged Horrigan, with an effort at cordiality that deceived no , one. “No, thanks,” replied Phelan. “When the curtain’s down and the orchestra's I gone home I don’t need no usher to i poke me In the ribs to tell me the , show’s out As for stayin’ to break ! bread with Dick Horrigan, I’d sooner have a Jolly little grub fest with Wiley's poison squad. Goodby, all. Horrigan, as for you. some day I’ll cross two sticks of dynamite under yon and you’ll ' scatter so wide that the inquest over your p’litical remains will have to be held in fourteen counties.” “I am so sorry, Mr. Horrigan, that tills should have happened In my house,” said Wainwright as the irate alderman stalked out leaving the boss staring after him in dumb fury. “I meant It for the best and”— “Mr. Wainwright,” interrupted Hor rigan, venting his pent-up wrath on his dismayed host, “this old world of ours Is white with bones of failures, of fools, of deadjjeats. In other words, of folks who ‘meant It for tbe best’ Now let’s get down to business.” “First let me Introduce Mr. Gibbs. He”- “Glad to meet him, but he’ll excuse me when I say I never talk business when there’s a third party around. No offense, Mr. Gibbs. Just walk out and take a look at the view, like a good boy, won’t you? Thanks.’’ Gibbs, at a warning look of appeal from Wainwright checked the angry retort that sprang to his Ups, turned on his heel and walked out Horrigan, / 7 Bom Horrigan. places, you know. And now won’t you tell that butler of yours not to let us be disturbed?” Wainwright complied, and the two settled down to their deferred talk. “How a boat the election this fall?” began the financier. “We’re already growing; but just be tween you and me, it’s going to be a hot fight. The people at large seem to be a little sore on the organization. A few deals lately have been a little raw, and some of the papers are kicking. Good Lord! If it wasn’t for the news papers what a cinch a boss would have In running a city! It’d be like taking pennies from i baby’s bank. But”— “Then yon think there Is some doubt about tbe election?’ “I wouldn’t go so far as that It’ll be a tussle, but with plenty of cash and the right man for mayor—mark me, I aay 'and tbe right man'—we ought to win.” “The woods are full of 'right men,’ ” replied Wainwright “Tbe money Is the chief thing to consider. Th-.t Is why I asked you here today. This Is Alwyn Bennett. “Let them. They’d soon get hoarse and have to rest their throats. As long as we get the votes what do we care lf”_ “Yes, yes!” agreed the boss impa tiently. "That’s all right, but what I want to know is. How does all this concern me?” Horrigan threw himself back in his chair, uptilted cigar in one corner of his mouth, thumbs in waistcoat arm holes and eyed his host quizzically. Wainwright did not even pretend not to understand. Still, instead of giving a direct answer ho went on with seem ing irrelevance: “I am a public spirited citizen. I be lieve civic welfare would suffer by any change in municipal administration, so i to keep the present party* in power I am willing to donate to it $200,000 to- 1 ward election expenses.” “That sounds pretty good as far as it goes, hut maybe you didn’t bear some thing 1 asked you a minute ago. What I want to know is. How does all this “I’m coming to that. As | am a public spirited citizen. I said, 1 I’m also a good friend—such a good friend that I’m always glad to put my friends on to anything in the market that looks particularly promising. Suppose I car ry for your account at the market price (that’s G3 just now) 15,000 shares of Borough Street railway stock?’ “Well?” “If that franchise is granted, Bor ough stock will go up at least 25 points within two days. That would clear up for you a profit of—let's see—about $375,000.” Horrigan had pulled a pencil from his pocket and was figuring on the back of an envelope. “Yes,” he said at last; “that’a right, $375 ,000. That would be my profit, while yours would run into the mil lions. That's not warm enough friend ship for me.” “Surely, that is a generous”— "Generous, maybe, but I’d like some thing munificent—aay 26,000 shares at 63. Then at tbe 25 point Jump I’d make—I’d make”—consulting his fig ures on the envelope—“something over $600,000. That sounds better to am Hey?’ m feu