Rich bankers and brokers had shaken hands
with him and praised him for what he had done.

"And I'm rich now myself," he said to himself, as he darted up toward
Broadway. "Whew! I'm rich! I'm rich!"

"Hello, Fred!"

"Hello, Bob! Where are you going?"

"Up to the telegraph office."

"I'm going that way, too," and he went along with Bob Newcombe, a
messenger boy in Broker Manson's office, who was his chum and friend,
and about the same age as himself.

"Sold all your papers?" Bob asked.

"Yes, all I am going to sell to-day,"

"Made enough to stop on, eh?"

"Yes."

Bob laughed and remarked:

"If I had a hundred dollars I could make three hundred in a week."

Fred started.

"How?" he asked.

"Big deal going on in the Stock Exchange. Heard 'em fixing it up in the
office this morning."

"What is it?"

"Corner in B. & H."

Fred had been selling papers in Wall Street long enough to be familiar
with all the terms used by brokers and bankers. He knew all about "puts"
and "calls," "bulls" and "bears," and had read eagerly the stories of
fortunes won or lost in the mad whirl of speculation down there.

"Sure you could make it, Bob?" he finally asked of the messenger boy.

"Of course I am. I've seen it done many a time. When three or four big
brokers club together to boom a stock it booms, and then the lambs lose
their fleece."

"But wouldn't you be a lamb and lose your fleece, too?"

"No. I wouldn't buy when it had boomed. I'd buy before and sell when it
went up."

They entered the telegraph office, and Bob sent off the message he had
brought, after which they went out on the street again.

"What's B. & H. going at now?" Fred asked.

"It's going at forty-seven. It will be up to fifty to-morrow when the
Stock Exchange closes."

"How do you know that?"

"Mr. Manson is going to buy up all the stock. He has millions behind
him. The stock will go up, up, up, till it topples over on the lambs.
Oh, I've seen it done a dozen times. If I had one hundred dollars, I'd
put it up on ten percent margin--every dollar of it--and scoop in three
hundred dollars inside of a week."

"Say, Bob, I've got the 'scads.'"

"Eh! Huh?" and Bob stopped and stared at him.

"I've got the 'chink,' the 'rhino,' the hundred dollars," and Fred told
him the story of what had taken place in the bank but a short half hour
before.

Bob was staggered.

"Git a hundred quick, Fred. Mr. Tabor will buy on a margin for us."

"Come