I don't want a whole mine--only a vein or two. Yes, this is very
interesting," I went on, as I got among the West Africans. "The scoring
seems to be pretty low; I suppose it must have been a wet wicket. 'H.E.
Reef, 1-3/4, 2'--he did a little better in the second innings. '1/2.
Boffin River, 5/16, 7/16,--they followed on, you see, but they saved the
innings defeat. By the way, which figure do I really keep my eye on
when I want to watch them go up and down?"

"Both. One eye on each. And don't talk about Boffin River to _me_."

"Is it like that, Henry? I am sorry. I suppose it's too late now to
offer you a safe mortgage at five per cent.? I know a man who has some.
Well, perhaps you're right."

On the next day I became a magnate. The Jaguar Mine was the one I fixed
upon--for two reasons. First, the figure immediately after it was 1,
which struck me as a good point from which to watch it go up and down.
Secondly, I met a man at lunch who knew somebody who had actually seen
the Jaguar Mine.

"He says that there's no doubt about there being lots there."

"Lots of what? Jaguars or gold?"

"Ah, he didn't say. Perhaps he meant Jaguars."

Anyhow, it was an even chance, and I decided to risk it. In a week's
time I was the owner of what we call in the City a "block" of
Jaguars--bought from one Herbert Bellingham, who, I suppose, had been
got at by his solicitor and compelled to return to something safe. I was
a West African magnate.

My first two months as a magnate were a great success. With my heart in
my mouth I would tear open the financial editions of the evening papers,
to find one day that Jaguars had soared like a rocket to 1-1/16, the
next that they had dropped like a stone to 1-1/32. There was one
terrible afternoon when for some reason which will never be properly
explained we sank to 15/16. I think the European situation had something
to do with it, though this naturally is not admitted. Lord Rothschild, I
fancy, suddenly threw all his Jaguars on the market; he sold and sold
and sold, and only held his hand when, in desperation, the Tsar granted
the concession for his new Southend to Siberia railway. Something like
that. But he never recked how the private investor would suffer; and
there was I, sitting at home and sending out madly for all the papers,
until my rooms were littered with copies of _The Times_, _The Financial
News_, _Answers_, _The Feathered World_ and _Home Chat_. Next day we
were up to 31/32, a