"How many?" wailed de Vinne.

"A hundred and fifty thousand," said Mr. Fred, and the two men stared
at one another.

De Vinne licked his dry lips.

"It comes to this," he said. "Between us we've sold him three hundred
and thirty thousand shares. There are only two hundred and fifty
thousand shares issued, so we've got to deliver eighty thousand shares
that are non-existent or be posted as defaulters."

Another long pause, and then both men said simultaneously, as though
the thought had struck them for the first time:

"Why, the fellow's a rogue!"

The next morning they called upon Bones, and they were with him for
half an hour; and when they went, they left behind them, not only the
cheques that Bones had given them, but another cheque for a most
substantial amount as consideration.

That night Bones gave a wonderful dinner-party at the most expensive
hotel in London. Sanders was there, and Patricia Sanders, and
Hamilton, and a certain Vera, whom the bold Bones called by her
Christian name, but the prettiest of the girls was she who sat on his
right and listened to the delivery of Bones's great speech in fear and
trembling.

"The toast of the evening, dear old friends," said Bones, "is Cupidity
and Cupid. Coupled with the names of the Honourable de Vinne and my
young and lovely typewriter--my friend and companion in storm and
stress, the only jolly old lady, if I may be allowed to say so, that
has stirred my young heart"--he caught Patricia Sanders's accusing eye,
coughed, and added--"in Europe!"

THE END

_WARD, LOCK & CO.'S NEW FICTION_

High Street

By

Charman Edwards

When one reads this amazing study of Daven Judd, who although he is
described as "lover, idealist and sometime fugitive from justice,"
comes at last to strange and beautiful happiness, it is difficult to
believe that an author could have evolved such a book out of his own
inventive faculties. One feels rather that Mr. Edwards has dared to
reveal the emotions of creatures who are actual flesh and blood;
emotions at times strange and terrible, frail and beautiful at others,
yet ever tinged with human appeal. Mr. Edwards has never written
anything like HIGH STREET before. Readers will be held fascinated to
the last page; then, because of that rare and indefinable quality of
startling truth which pervades it, they will take it up again.

_By the same Author:_

Windfellow.
Derision
Rainbrother

_Press