ly invested in gilt-edged bonds. And then he would bid the
Street good-by forever.

Force of long business custom and the indefinable fear of new ventures
for a time fought successfully his increasing ticker-fever. But one day
his brokers wished to speak to him, to urge him to sell out his entire
holdings, having been advised of an epoch-making resolution by Congress.
They had received the news in advance from a Washington customer. Other
brokers had important connections in the Capital and therefore there was
no time to lose. They dared not assume the responsibilty of selling
him out without his permission. Five minutes--five eternities!--passed
before they could talk by telephone with him; and when he gave his order
to 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 Wall
Street knew. Instead of being among the first ten sellers Gilmartin was
among the second hundred.

II

The clerks gave him a farewell dinner. All were there, even the head
office-boy to whom the two-dollar subscription was no light matter. The
man who probably would succeed Gilmartin as manager, Jenkins, acted as
toastmaster. He made a witty speech which ended with a neatly turned
compliment. Moreover, he seemed sincerely sorry to bid good-by to the
man whose departure meant promotion--which was the nicest compliment of
all. And the other clerks--old Williamson, long since ambition-proof;
and young Hardy, bitten ceaselessly by it; and middle-aged Jameson, who
knew 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 how
good he had been and related corroborative anecdotes that made him blush
and the others cheer; and how sorry they were he would no longer be with
them, but how glad he was going to do so much better by himself; and
they hoped he would not "cut" them when he met them after he had become
a great millionaire. And Gilmartin felt his heart grow soft and feelings
not 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 tones
of one speaking of a dear departed friend: "He was the best man in the
place. He always was all right." Everybody laughed; whereupon Danny went
on, with a defiant glare at the others: "I'd work for him for nothin' if
he'd want me, instead of gettin' ten a week from an