“tom,” said bob,“here’s a five for you.”“But, you see, Bob, believing in ’em and knowing how to do ’em is two differentthings. Now I believe in ’em just the same as what you do, but I can’t do ’em the same way.”“Well, you ain’t so old, Tom.”“I know I ain’t, but that don’t make no difference, for when you was no older than what I am, why you done things in a awful grand way.”Bob here explained to Tom that the five dollar bill was a present to him from Richard Goldwin, the banker, and told him also about his own good luck.“And he gave you all that money to buy these new clothes with! He is a bully old fellow, ain’t he, Bob?” said Tom Flannery, greatly astonished.“I should say so,” responded Bob. “But I didn’t spend it all, though.”“How much did you put up for ’em, Bob?”“Fifteen dollars, that’s all.”“They are swell, though, I tell you, Bob, and you look like kind of a masher,” said Tom, criticising them carefully.“Well, I ain’t no masher, but I think myself they do look kinder slick.”“And you got five dollars left, too?”“Yes, jest the same as what you have, Tom.”“What you goin’ to do with it, Bob?”“I hain’t thought about that yet. What you goin’ to do with yourn?”“I guess I’ll keep it, Bob, till next summer, and put it up on the races.”“What do you want to do that for, Tom Flannery?” returned Bob, with disgust.“Why, to make some money, of course.”“Are you sure you will make it?”“Of course I am, Bob. Nobody what knows anything at all can’t lose when he has so much as five dollars to back him. It’s them that don’t have nothin’ what gets broke on racin’.”“You know all about it, I suppose?”“Why, of course I do, Bob; I’ve made a stake lots of times.”“And lost lots of times, too, I s’pose.”“Well, that’s because I didn’t have enough capital.”“But answer me this, Tom Flannery,” said Bob, pointedly: “You admit you did get wiped out at bettin’, do you?”“Well, yes, I s’pose I did, Bob.”“And you’ll get broke again, if you go at it. I tell you, Tom, they all get left, them that bets on horse racing.”“But don’t some of them make slats of money? Answer me that.”“They don’t make no money what sticks to ’em.”“What do you mean by that, Bob? I don’t understand.”“I mean that they lose it the same way they make it, so it don’t stick to ’em. Do you see?”“Yes, I see. But how’s a feller like me goin’ to make any money, Bob, if he don’t bet any?”“Now, Tom, you’re gettin’ to somethin’ I’ve been thinkin’ about, and I’ll let you into the secret. You see, Tom, I don’t believe in horse bettin’ the way you do, but I ain’t afraid to take chances all the same.”“What is it, Bob?” interrupted Tom, eager to get into the secret.“Wall Street,” replied Bob, striking the attitude of a money king.“Do you mean it, Bob?” asked young Flannery, incredulously.“Of course I mean it, Tom. There’s piles of money down there.”“I know there is, Bob, but how are fellers like you ’n’ me going to get it?”“Why, by speculatin’, of course. How does any of ’em make it?”“Them fellers are all rich, Bob. They didn’t go down there the same as what we would go, with only five dollars,” replied Tom.“They didn’t, did they? Well, tell me if Jay Gould, and the old man Sage, and half a dozen more of them big fellers, didn’t go into Wall Street without a cent?”“I can’t tell you, Bob; I never heard anybody say,” answered Tom, humbly.“Well, Tom Flannery, I should think you would find out such things. Don’t you never want to know anything?”“I ain’t been thinkin’ about Wall Street, and them fellers you speak about, Bob,” apologized Tom. “But I wish you’d tell me about ’em, for I’d like to know how they made their money.”“Well, I’ll tell you some other time,” said Bob, with assumed ease. As a matter of fact, however, he did not know himself, but was not willing to admit so much to Tom. He therefore decided to change the subject at once before getting cornered.“Now, Tom,” he continued, “I’ll tell you what it is. I’ve jest thought what we’ll do, you ’n’ me and Herbert.”“What is it, Bob?”“Well, you see we got knocked out of our breakfast this morning, Tom, so I think the best thing we can do is to have a big dinner tonight.”“I think so too, Bob,” said Tom, eagerly.“You see, ’twould be a celebration of the way we worked the detective business.”“So ’twould, Bob. That’s a good idea, I think.”“I think so, too, Tom, and we’ll have a regular first class lay out.”“It will be immense, Bob, I know ’twill,” said Tom, with enthusiasm. “I never had a big dinner, Bob.”“No, I should think you never did, but you won’t be hungry, Tom, when you get done with the one we will have tonight.”“I hope I won’t, Bob.”“So do I,” answered Bob, comically.“When will Herbert be here?” asked Tom, looking at the largeTribuneclock.“It’s time for him to show up now.”“I should think so, too,” replied Tom, with an expression of doubt.He was thinking about that morning’s experience when Herbert failed to appear till after he had breakfasted.In a little time young Randolph joined them. He was as much surprised as Tom had been at the change made in Bob’s personal appearance by his handsome new suit.“You must go down and let Mr. Goldwin see you with it on,” said he.“When shall we start, Bob?” put in Tom Flannery, who couldn’t see the propriety in delaying dinner simply to discuss new clothes.“Are you so very hungry?” laughed Bob, good naturedly.“I should think I am, for I haven’t had no dinner.”“It don’t make no difference, Tom, whether you did or not. You’d be starvin’ all the same.”“Well, I can’t help it; I think it’s time to eat, don’t you, Herbert?”“Yes, it is about time for dinner,” replied our hero. “Are you ready to go, Bob?”“Yes, but we won’t go up to the Boss Tweed tonight,” replied the young detective, somewhat pompously.“Bob is goin’ to ask us up town for a big lay out,” said Tom.Herbert looked doubtful.“That’s so,” said Bob. “We will have kind of a blow out all by ourselves.”“And shall we do the town afterwards, as the bloods say?” asked Tom.“What does ‘doing the town’ mean?” asked Herbert. The expression was new to him.“It’s goin’ round and seeing the sights,” replied Bob. “But come, let’s be movin’. We can talk about doin’ the town while we are at dinner.”“So I say,” said Tom, with characteristic hunger.CHAPTER XXII.THE GREAT BANQUET.“Gewhittaker! this is splendid, Bob. I didn’t think we was coming to no such tony place as what this is,” said Tom Flannery.“Didn’t I tell you it wa’n’t no Jim Fisk or Boss Tweed ranch?” replied Bob.“So you did, Bob; but you see I didn’t know about them big glass—what do you call ’em?”“Chandeliers,” suggested Herbert.“Chandeliers, that’s it; but ain’t they stunnin’, though?”“Well, there ain’t nothin’ mean about ’em, I should think,” answered Bob.“No, nor ’bout anything here,” said Tom. “I never see so much style slung round before, did you, Herbert?”“I don’t know,” answered young Randolph, carelessly.“Say, Tom, don’t make so much fuss about this place. ’Tain’t nothin’; no, ’tain’t nothin’, Tom, beside some er the tony places further up town.”A waiter now came along and handed a bill of fare to Bob, and took away the glasses to fill them with ice.“Do them fellers always dress up so with a swallow tail on, Bob?” asked Tom.“Yes, at a swell place, like this is, they do,” answered Bob.“Now that waiter he will be right back and want our orders. The first thing is soup, and there’s three kinds—potage Julienne,suprême, andconsommé à la royale. Which will you have, Herbert?”“You may give me thepotage Julienne,” replied the young Vermonter.“Say ’em again, Bob; I didn’t quite catch ’em before,” said Tom.Bob smiled, and obeyed the request.“Why not have ’em all, Bob?” said Tom, eagerly.“’Cause ’tain’t regular to do that way.”“Well, they are all on there for us, ain’t they?”“They are on for us to take whichever one we want.”“And I can’t have but one?”“No.”“Well, I thought at these er—what do you call ’em?—dinners a feller had everything in the old bill, if he wanted it.”“Table d’hôte, you mean, Tom Flannery, but you’re way off, you are; nobody ever has everything.”Tom looked disappointed, even sad.“Well,” continued Bob, “I’m waiting for your order. Which soup will you have?”“Which you goin’ to have, Bob?”“I’m goin’ to have theconsommé.”“Then I’ll take the other one,” said Tom.“Thesuprême?”“That’s him,” replied Tom.“Why do you prefer that?” laughed Herbert.“Well, you see, it sounds better. That one that Bob has took I can’t make no sense out of it nohow, and I don’t believe it’s good to eat, either—anything with a name like that.”the great banquet.“But the name of your soup is not much better.”“That’s so, Herbert. Blamed if I know what they wants to put such stuff on fer a feller to eat fer,” said Tom, with an air of disgust.“Well, Tom, you may as well get used to these names, for you’ll get a lot of ’em before you get through this bill,” said Bob, laughing.“Them names don’t go all the way through, do they, Bob?” asked Tom, alarmed.“Yes, plumb through to the end.”“Well, that will spoil my dinner, then, for I don’t know nothing about such words.”“No, I guess it won’t spoil your dinner, Tom; I’ll bet you will eat like a hungry tramp before we get through.”“Maybe I will, Bob Hunter, but I’d like to know what I’m eatin’ all the same,” replied Tom, somewhat indignant. He did not like to be compared to a hungry tramp.“That’s all right, Tom Flannery; now don’t you get off your base so sudden like. You will think you never struck a lay out like this before you get half way down the bill,” said Bob, trying to restore good feeling.“Well, I hope I will, that’s what I say. A feller ought to get something good when he has to wade through such blamed old names as these, that don’t mean nothin’.”“But they do mean somethin’, jest as much as what our words mean to us.”“Do you mean to tell me, Bob Hunter, that anybody uses these words?”“Of course they do, Tom. They are French words, and French folks know what they mean.”Tom thought for a moment; then he said:“I was way off, Bob. I thought it was some words jest made up for this bill, ’cause you see I don’t know nothin’ about French.”The waiter now reappeared, bringing with him two long rolls of French bread, a supply of butter, and three glasses of ice water.Presently the soup was brought on.“Sail right in now, Herbert, you and Tom,” said Bob. “The next course will be right along.”Tom took a few drops, timidly, then a larger portion—less timidly—and now he put on a full head of steam and worked the spoon like a trip hammer.When his plate was empty he said: “I think I struck it right, Bob; I knew I hit the best name.”“Why, was yours good, Tom?” replied Bob.“I should think it was, Bob. It was way up, that’s what it was. You see ’tain’t always, Bob, that a feller can pick a winner the first time.”“Now you’re givin’ us some more of your horse racin’ expressions, Tom. Can’t you never let ’em alone, ’specially at a tony dinner like this is?” said Bob.“Well, I didn’t think about that, Bob. I didn’t mean to do nothin’ wrong. But you see, Bob, I didn’t know of no other way to get at it. This orderin’ stuff by these blamed words is takin’ chances—what I call bigger chances than bettin’ on a horse race.”Young Randolph and Bob laughed heartily at Tom’s remarks.The next course was now put on the table. It came in a large platter. Three plates were placed before Bob, and he served the fish and potatoes in a very creditable manner.“Now comes theentrées,” said Bob.“What are them things, Bob?” said Tom, while ravenously devouring the portion before him.“Well, I was jest goin’ to give ’em to you when you busted in on me,” replied Bob. "Here they are:“Fillet piqué.“Fricandeau de Veau.“Pâtés aux huitres.”“Can’t a fellow get more’n one go at ’em, Bob?” said Tom, comically.“That’s all, only one go, Tom; which will you have?”“I’ll take the first one, Bob.”“Thefillet piqué?”“Yes, if that’s the first one.”“Well, ’tis; but, Tom, you’re way off. You didn’t pick no winner this time, as you say, for that dish ain’t no good.”“Where did you get on to them blamed names, Bob? You’re slingin’ jest as much style here, too, as you did in the detective business.”“Well, why wouldn’t I know ’bout ’em, Tom? Didn’t I work in one of these places for a good while, and didn’t I pay some attention to the way things was done?”“So you did, Bob; I didn’t think about that.”“I, too, have been surprised, Bob, to see how familiar you seemed with the various dishes,” said Herbert.“Well, that’s how it come. You see I picked it up.”“But you are as much at ease serving the dinner as I am at eating it.”“How much?” said Bob, feeling in his pocket for loose change.“What do you mean?” asked Herbert, seriously.Bob smiled, and Tom burst into a characteristic laugh. It was the first time since the dinner commenced that he had seen the funny side of anything. Tom Flannery was not given to looking upon the comical side. He was too credulous for that; but when anything did strike him as funny, and he made up his mind to treat it as such, the outburst of laughter that followed—laughter that was rich and childlike—was something to do one good.Now, there was nothing especially bright or funny about Bob’s remark that should have caused Tom to become so hilarious. In fact, it was more Herbert’s serious manner, than what Bob said, that set him off.“’Twas an old chestnut, any way, Bob,” as Tom said the next day; “but Herbert looked so honest about it, jest as if you wasn’t talkin’ jokes, that it jest made me lay myself out and shout. I couldn’t er stopped, Bob, ef it had killed me.”When the laughter had subsided, Bob explained his joke to Herbert, and then said:“You have not told me what you will have. Here comes the waiter for our orders.”“You order ’em, Bob,” said Tom. “You know what’s good.”“That is a good suggestion, Tom, and meets with my approval,” remarked Herbert.Bob accordingly ordered for all three, and his selection gave excellent satisfaction to his guests.The next course was simply maccaroni, cooked in the Italian style, with tomato dressing.“This is bang up, Bob,” said Tom Flannery, smacking his lips. “Them Eyetalians are some good after all, ain’t they?”Roast duck followed the maccaroni, with jelly, and fine cut celery with dressing.Then came ice cream, followed by cheese—fromage de Brie.“Bob, there’s somethin’ wrong about this,” said Tom, seriously, referring to the last course. “Jest get on to that piece, will you?” and Tom passed his portion to Bob.“Don’t be a fool, now, Tom Flannery,” said Bob, with assumed displeasure, while he struggled hard to keep from giggling.“Well, I ain’t no fool, Bob; I guess I know when I know a thing,” said Tom, indignantly. “I tell you that piece is all spoilt,” and, to make sure of his statement, he took it in his fingers, and without regard to good manners placed it close to his nose, and gave it a genuine test.Bob threw himself back in the chair, and exploded with laughter. Herbert did likewise. But Tom was mad. He thought Bob had played a trick on him, and he said:“I don’t intend to be imposed upon in any such way as what this is, Bob Hunter. I’ll show you that I can put up jobs, too, ef you think it is so much fun.”Now Brie cheese is somewhat soft, so much so that it many times adheres slightly to whatever it touches. Tom had rashly taken it up in his fingers, and now, while breathing forth malice and threats against Bob, he chanced to put his fingers up to his mouth. This brought them again in close proximity to his nose.“Gewhopper!” yelled Tom, as he thrust his hand into his trousers pocket with a view to better protecting his nose. “I wouldn’t er thought this of you, Bob Hunter!”Both Bob and Herbert were convulsed with laughter, and were holding their sides from pain.From the fact that they laughed so uncontrollably, and that they did not deny his charge, Tom felt sure that he had been made the butt of a foul joke, and he resented it spunkily. This of course only made the situation more ridiculous, and the more Tom said, the harder Bob and Herbert laughed. At length, however, Bob quieted down sufficiently to remark:“Tom, listen to me. You’re the biggest fool I ever see.”“Yes, you think you’ve made a fool of me, don’t you, Bob Hunter? But you hain’t, for I got on to your game before I got any er that durned stuff into my mouth.”“Oh, don’t you be so ignorant, Tom Flannery. The trouble is with you, you’re a chump, you don’t know nothin’ about livin’ at high toned places like this is.”“No, nor I don’t want to nuther, Bob Hunter. Ef that stuff is what you call high toned livin’, why I don’t want no more of it in mine. I’ll——”In the excitement of the conversation, Tom forgot to keep his hand housed up longer in his pocket, and now the tips of his fingers unconsciously found their way close to his nose again.This was what caused Tom to break off his sentence so abruptly. He didn’t say anything for a minute, but he looked a whole volume of epithets.Herbert and Bob started in on another round of laughter that still further irritated Tom.“I’m goin’,” said he, slinging his napkin savagely upon the table; “I won’t stand this business no more, Bob Hunter.”“Sit down, Tom,” commanded Bob; “there’s more to come yet. You hain’t had no coffee yet, nor nuts and raisins.”Tom immediately replaced the napkin in his lap, and pulled up to the table again. Coffee, nuts and raisins! Oh, no, TomFlannery couldn’t allow his grievance to deprive him of these luxuries!“Now, Tom,” said Bob, “I jest want to show you that you’ve made a fool of yourself, and that we hain’t made no fool of you. Of course we couldn’t help laughin’ to see you actin’ so redickerlous, Tom, and all about a little piece of cheese, too. A feller would er thought, Tom, that you’d been dumped in a sewer, to see you carry on; but when you get one er them crazy notions in your head, why, there’s no doin’ anything with you, but to let you sail in and enjoy yourself.”Bob then ate his choice bit of Brie with a keen relish, much to the surprise of Tom, and I may say Herbert as well, for the latter’s taste had not been educated up to the point where he could eat such food.At length reconciliation was reached, and Tom was once more happy. When the coffee had been drunk, the three boys, while eating nuts and raisins, discussed the problem of money making.“How about the Wall Street racket?” remarked Tom.“You refer to speculating, I suppose?” replied Herbert.“Yes. You see my capital ain’t earnin’ me nothin’.”“Well, I have had very little time to think about that since we first spoke of it. In fact, I am not in favor of the idea.”“What! not in favor of spekerlatin’?” said Bob, with astonishment.“Nuther am I,” put in Tom, wisely; “I don’t think it’s safe.”“But you think it’s safe to bet on horse racin’, don’t you, Tom Flannery?”“Well, it’s safer’n what spekerlatin’ is, that’s what I think, Bob Hunter.”“Humph! You know a lot, don’t you, Tom Flannery?”“No, I don’t know a lot about them Wall Street schemes, ef that’s what you mean; but I guess I can pick a winner at racin’.”“Well, ef you don’t know nothin’ about spekerlatin’, how are you goin’ to use any judgment? Tell me that now, Tom Flannery.”“You kinder want to bulldoze me, don’t you, Bob Hunter? You’ve got your head sot on spekerlatin’, and you want to make me think jest like you do.”“You tire me, Tom Flannery,” said Bob, with a great show of disgust. “I’d try and have some sense, ef I was you.”“All right, Bob, then I’ll try ’n’ have some sense—I’ll do jest as you say, and spekerlate till my five dollars is all blowed in. Now, does that satisfy you, Bob?”Tom Flannery had almost always yielded readily to Bob’s judgment. This sudden independence of opinion, therefore, was a surprise to young Hunter.“Why, that’s all right, Tom,” said he, instantly changing his attitude. “I don’t care nothin’ about your spekerlatin’ ef you don’t want to; but I want to make some money, that’s what I do, and I thought you did too, Tom.”“So I do, Bob, so I do; but you see so many folks loses money down there in Wall Street, and some of them big fellers, too, with heaps of money, just dead loads of it, to back ’em.”“Well, that’s so, Tom, I know they loses sometimes, but don’t lots of ’em make money? Now answer me that.”“Yes, you are right, Bob, they do some of ’em strike it rich, but as you said about the racin’ I guess the money ain’t good money, fer it don’t stick to ’em.”“Well, I should think it stuck to Jay Gould, didn’t it?”“Yes, he is one of the few successful ones,” said Herbert, answering the question for Tom.“Yes, but there are lots and lots of them kings of Wall Street,” persisted Bob, who had a strong desire to become a speculator.“So there are, Bob,” replied Herbert, “but they do not hold their rank throughout their lives. A man that is called a king in Wall Street one day, may be a beggar the next day.”“Think of that, Bob,” put in Tom Flannery, exultantly.“Well, I know, but then them kings don’t all go up like that.”“But the majority of them do. If you will get a book that gives the history of Wall Street, you will be surprised to see how thousands, hundreds of thousands, and even millions, are swept away almost without warning.”“Whew! just think of it! A whole million dollars!” exclaimed Tom. “Say, Herbert, how much is a million dollars? It must be a whoppin’ big pile, that’s what I think.”“A million dollars—let me see, Tom, how I can explain it so that you will comprehend its——”“So I will what?” interrupted Tom, doubtful of the meaning of the word “comprehend.”Herbert made this clear, and then said:“Now, Tom, you have a five dollar bill, and——”“Yes, and it’s a new one, too, crisp as a ginger snap,” interrupted young Flannery.“All right, then, a new five dollar bill. Now, suppose you had altogether twenty bills just like this one, you would have how much money?”“Can you tell, Bob?” said Tom, grinning.“Why, of course I can!” replied Bob, throwing his head back, proudly.“Well, let’s see ef you can.”“One hundred dollars,” answered Bob.“I guess that’s right, Herbert, a hundred dollars; but I never see so much money all at one time, did you, Bob?”Herbert proceeded with the illustration by saying:“Then, Tom, you understand how many five dollar bills it takes to make one hundred dollars. Now, it would require ten one hundred dollar bills to make one one thousand dollar bill.”“Gewhopple! that’s climbin’ up, ain’t it, Bob?” exclaimed Tom, incredulously.“Oh, but that’s nothing,” said Herbert. “Just listen: It would take a hundred one thousand dollar bills to make one hundred thousand dollars, and it would require ten times one hundred thousand dollars to make one million.”“Well, that’s fur enough,” said Tom, scratching his head. “Don’t give me no more tonight, for I can’t take it in no way. A million dollars; and you say some er them kings loses so much money as all this in almost no time?”“Why, yes; perhaps in a single day,” answered Herbert.“And you think, Bob Hunter, that we could go down there with only five dollars apiece and lay out them kings and scoop the boodle, do you? Now, answer me that.”“Well, it does seem kinder like takin’ chances, ef them fellers loses money like that.”“Of course it does, Bob, fer you see we wouldn’t have but one go at the game with only five dollars; would we, Herbert?”“Five dollars wouldn’t go very far, for a fact,” replied Herbert, “and in my opinion it would be lost very quickly.”“But I’ve heard of fellers that went down there without no money, and they made loads of it.”“Very true,” said Herbert; “but did you ever hear of the thousands that went down there and came away without a cent?”“No, I never did,” admitted Bob, frankly.Tom smiled quietly, for he felt that Bob would have to acknowledge himself mistaken, and at last come over to his side.“Well, now, there is the very point,” said Herbert, “and it is the one that nobody stops to think about. A report is circulated that some one makes a big haul in Wall Street, and, without thinking about the thousands of people that lose money there, a thousand or two more people try their luck at speculating, thinking, each one of them, to make a great haul too. But the result is the same as it was with the other thousand speculators—the money is swallowed up, and gone forever.”“What becomes of it all?” asked Bob, much impressed by Herbert’s well founded argument.“Well, the most of it goes into the pockets of the kings.”“Then I shouldn’t think them kings would get busted, as you say they do,” said Bob, always keen at making a point.“They would not if they had to deal only with the small speculators, such as you would like to be. If that were the case they would win nearly every time. But kings are the ones who break kings.”“Oh, I see now,” said Bob. “There are a lot of ’em, and they jest go for each other. Is that it?”“Yes, that is the way they do it.”“Well, I guess you are right, then, Herbert—you and Tom.”“I feel sure I am. Mr. Goldwin talked with me about it today, and told me never to speculate.”“But he speculates,” said Bob, “and he is worth a lot of money.”“Oh, no, never.”“What’s he call himself a broker for, then?”“Why, a broker is not necessarily a speculator. A broker is one who buys and sells stocks or bonds for some one else—for a speculator, and he gets his commission or pay for doing the business.”“Well, I guess I was way off, Herbert. I thought all of them brokers was speculators, and I knew lots of ’em was solid with money.”“Yes, that is the way of it,” replied Herbert. “The broker makes the money and the speculator loses it, usually.”“Don’t brokers never lose nothin’, Herbert?” asked Tom.“No, not unless they trust some one who fails to pay them.”“Well, I thought you would get sick er spekerlatin’, Bob, and I’m glad you’ve done it before you’re broke,” said Tom Flannery. “I don’t want no spekerlatin’ for me.”“No, but you’d like a go at horse racin’ all the same, Tom Flannery,” said Bob.“No, I wouldn’t nuther, Bob, fer you talked me out er bettin’ and into spekerlatin’, and now Herbert here has jest upset the spekerlatin’ idea, so I’m out of it all, Bob.”“Good,” said Herbert; “I am glad you have come to so wise a decision.”“So am I,” said Bob, heartily.“So am I,” echoed Tom, with equal fervor.“But now,” said Bob, “what are we goin’ to do with our money? It ain’t earnin’ us nothin’, you see.”“I think the best plan, Bob,” said Herbert, thoughtfully, “would be for you and Tom to put your money in the savings bank. There it will be safe, and will be earning a little interest all the time. Let it remain there until we see a chance to invest it to good advantage, and in the meantime add as much to it as possible.”“I never thought of that before,” said Bob.“Nuther did I,” added Tom.“Strikes me ’tain’t a bad scheme,” continued Bob. “What do you say, Tom?”“Well, I don’t see no great money in it, anyhow,” answered young Flannery. “But if Herbert says it’s the best thing, why I s’pose ’tis.”“It is the best plan, I am sure,” said young Randolph. “Very few speculators ever come out rich. The men who gain wealth are those who invest their money carefully, and put it where it will be safe.”CHAPTER XXIII.BOB HUNTER’S AMBITION.On the following day, after the paper trade of the morning was over, Bob and Tom, acting upon young Randolph’s advice, went to the Emigrants’ Industrial Savings Bank, and deposited each five dollars. They felt very proud as they came out into Chambers Street with their bank books.“It’s a starter any way,” said Bob.“I’ve been thinking over what Herbert said, and I guess between you’n me, Tom, he is ’bout right.”“That’s what I think too, Bob,” replied young Flannery, for aside from the matter of betting on horse racing and speculating, he always agreed with Bob.“I think we was in big luck, Tom, when we run on to Herbert Randolph.”“I think so, too, Bob; but why do you think so?”“Why do I think so! Well, ef that ain’t a queer question, Tom Flannery. Would you a’ had that bank book now, with your name, Thomas Flannery, in plain writin’ writ across it, I’d like to know, ef it hadn’t been for Vermont?”“No, I wouldn’t. That’s so, Bob, I wouldn’t, fer to be honest with you, Bob, I think I’d put it on racin’.”“So you would, Tom, ef you’d had it, but you wouldn’t er had it.”“Well, I never thought of that, Bob, but it’s so, ain’t it?”“I should say it is, and I wouldn’t er had my bank book or these new clothes either.”“And the big supper, Bob?”“That’s so, Tom, and the big supper too. I tell you, Tom Flannery, ’twas great luck when we struck Vermont.”bob and tom coming out of the bank.“That’s so, Bob, so it was. But say, Bob, don’t you think ’twas kinder lucky for Herbert when he fell in with you?”“I don’t know ’bout that, Tom. How do you figure it?”“Why, I figures it in this way, Bob; ef it hadn’t been fer you he would be down in that old Gunwagner’s cellar now.”“Well, that’s so, Tom, but he has more than paid me up, though.”“How did he do it, Bob?” asked Tom eagerly.“Ain’t he helping me right along, I’d like to know?”“I hain’t heard much about it, Bob. What has he done for you?”“Yes, you have heard about it, too, Tom Flannery. Didn’t I tell you how he teaches me every night?”“Oh, yes, you told me about that, Bob, but that ain’t much—’tain’t like doin’ the detective business, is it?”“Well, no, of course it hain’t, but it’s just as good, Tom, and a good deal more so, I think.”“Well, I don’t think no such thing, Bob.”“Well, ef I do, that’s all right, ain’t it? I tell you, Tom, ’tain’t every feller that can do the teachin’ act.”“Nuther can every fellow do the detective business. Ef you want to know what I think, Bob Hunter, I’ll tell you.”“All right, Tom, sail in.”“Well, I think, ef I was you, I’d jest let this learnin’ business go, and I’d make myself a detective. No feller could put more style into it than what you could, Bob.”“Tom, you’re way off again. A feller can’t make no kind of a detective, nor nothin’ else, neither, unless he knows somethin’. I guess I know, and Herbert says so too.”“Well, I hain’t got no learnin’,” replied Tom, somewhat pompously, as if to prove by himself that Bob’s statement was untrue.“I know it,” said Bob, and stopped short.Tom looked at him doubtfully.“Then you might’s well say right out that I won’t make nothin’, Bob Hunter,” said he, his manner resembling that of one not a little indignant.“Well, I said what I said, Tom, and if it fits you, why then am I to blame?”Tom made no reply.“It’s no use for you to get mad, Tom. Anybody would tell you jest the same as what I did. Now, the thing for you to do, Tom, is ter get some learnin’—you can do it.”“Do you think I could, Bob?” replied Tom, coming round to Bob’s views, as he almost always did.“Why, of course you could, Tom; ain’t I doin’ it?”“Well, yes, I s’pose you are, Bob, but then you can do ’most anything.”“That ain’t so, Tom. You can do it jest as well as what I can, ef you only try.”“I never thought about that before, Bob,” said Tom, thoughtfully. “Who could I get to learn me?”“You mustn’t say ‘learn you,’ Tom. Herbert says that hain’t right.”“What is it, then, Bob?”“He says I must say ‘teach me,’ because I’ve got to do the learning myself.”“Well, that’s too much for me, Bob; I want to start in on somethin’ easier.”At length this discussion ended by Tom falling in with Bob’s opinion as usual, and by his agreeing to commence at once attending an evening school.CHAPTER XXIV.A VISIT TO THE BANKER’S HOUSE.The disturbing elements that had produced the somewhat dramatic and extraordinary scenes of the last week were now apparently quiet. But were they actually so? This is the question that Herbert Randolph and Bob Hunter asked themselves—a question that caused them much anxiety.Felix Mortimer, to be sure, was in the Tombs awaiting his trial. But the granite wall and the great iron doors were alike powerless to imprison his mind. He was as free as ever to think and to plot. What schemes of revenge might not then be planned by this boy whose hatred for Herbert Randolph now undoubtedly burned more fiercely than ever? And Gunwagner, his companion in crime, was free to carry out any plan that might be agreed upon between them. He had given bonds to appear when wanted by the court, something that Felix Mortimer was unable to do. This is why the latter was still locked up, while the old fence was allowed his temporary freedom.Except for the constant anxiety that Herbert and Bob felt over this matter, everything went smoothly with them. Papers sold briskly, work at the bank was congenial, and they had already become much interested in each other. The days flew by quickly, and they looked forward to the evenings, whichthey spent together as a time for enjoyment and improvement. As often as Tom Flannery could leave his evening school he joined them, and he was always welcome. No one could help liking him, he was so simple and honest. How keenly he enjoyed an evening with Herbert and Bob in their room, or strolling about the great city, as they not infrequently did! Their slender means would not warrant them in attending the theater often. Occasionally, however, they managed to get inexpensive admission tickets to a really good play. Bob Hunter usually procured them as a reward for some service he had given during the day, when his paper trade did not demand his attention. Many very good free lectures, too, were open to them, and they seldom failed to improve this opportunity. The Young Men’s Christian Association building, with its fine library and gymnasium, proved a very attractive resort to these three boys, whose happiness, though they lived in the most humble way, was doubtless equalled by few boys in the great metropolis, however luxurious their home and surroundings.One evening in particular young Randolph found especially enjoyable. It came about in this way. Mr. Goldwin had a slight attack of rheumatism that caused him to remain at home. He sent a note to his office saying he should not be at the bank on that day, and requesting Herbert to come to his house late in the afternoon, and to bring with him a report of the day’s business, and whatever mail it would be desirable for the banker to see.The young Vermonter read the note eagerly, and then immediately did the same thing over again. A peculiar pleasure shone in his eyes as he looked doubtingly at the little piece of paper. And now he saw a very attractive picture—arich family carriage into which a charmingly pretty girl was being helped by a blushing boy. He wondered why she had never been at the bank since that time, and speculated dreamily upon his chance of seeing her at her father’s house.Thus the day wore away, and at the close of business hours young Randolph hurried from the bank, taking with him what he had been requested to bring.At City Hall Park he stopped and informed Bob Hunter of his mission, and then went quickly to his room to put himself into the most presentable appearance possible with the somewhat scanty resources of his wardrobe.His heart beat fast with expectations and fears as he ascended the brown stone steps of Mr. Goldwin’s house.“Good evening, Mr. Randolph,” said the banker, greeting Herbert very cordially. “I hope you have a good report of today’s transactions for me.”“Yes, I think this statement of the transactions will please you,” replied young Randolph politely.“Excellent,” exclaimed the banker with a smile of satisfaction, as he read the report. “You have done a splendid day’s work. The market must have been unusually active. Why, here is a transaction of twenty thousand shares by one house alone—great customers, Breakwell & Co., great customers, bold men—not afraid of anything.”“They certainly seem to be very enterprising,” remarked Herbert, feeling the necessity of saying something, and that that something should concur with his employer’s views.“Most assuredly they are,” answered the banker, warming to the subject. “Why, if we had more houses like Breakwell & Co., Wall Street would see no dull days—no, sir, none at all. On the contrary, it would just hum with activity.”“I suppose they are perfectly good, Mr. Goldwin,” remarked Herbert, not knowing what better reply to make.“Good? Why, they are rated A1, and are reported to be very rich,” replied the banker.“Did they make their money by speculating?”“Yes, I understand so.”“Are they sure of keeping it if they continue to speculate?”“Well, now, you are asking me a difficult question. Nothing, you know, is certain in Wall Street.”
“tom,” said bob,“here’s a five for you.”
“But, you see, Bob, believing in ’em and knowing how to do ’em is two differentthings. Now I believe in ’em just the same as what you do, but I can’t do ’em the same way.”
“Well, you ain’t so old, Tom.”
“I know I ain’t, but that don’t make no difference, for when you was no older than what I am, why you done things in a awful grand way.”
Bob here explained to Tom that the five dollar bill was a present to him from Richard Goldwin, the banker, and told him also about his own good luck.
“And he gave you all that money to buy these new clothes with! He is a bully old fellow, ain’t he, Bob?” said Tom Flannery, greatly astonished.
“I should say so,” responded Bob. “But I didn’t spend it all, though.”
“How much did you put up for ’em, Bob?”
“Fifteen dollars, that’s all.”
“They are swell, though, I tell you, Bob, and you look like kind of a masher,” said Tom, criticising them carefully.
“Well, I ain’t no masher, but I think myself they do look kinder slick.”
“And you got five dollars left, too?”
“Yes, jest the same as what you have, Tom.”
“What you goin’ to do with it, Bob?”
“I hain’t thought about that yet. What you goin’ to do with yourn?”
“I guess I’ll keep it, Bob, till next summer, and put it up on the races.”
“What do you want to do that for, Tom Flannery?” returned Bob, with disgust.
“Why, to make some money, of course.”
“Are you sure you will make it?”
“Of course I am, Bob. Nobody what knows anything at all can’t lose when he has so much as five dollars to back him. It’s them that don’t have nothin’ what gets broke on racin’.”
“You know all about it, I suppose?”
“Why, of course I do, Bob; I’ve made a stake lots of times.”
“And lost lots of times, too, I s’pose.”
“Well, that’s because I didn’t have enough capital.”
“But answer me this, Tom Flannery,” said Bob, pointedly: “You admit you did get wiped out at bettin’, do you?”
“Well, yes, I s’pose I did, Bob.”
“And you’ll get broke again, if you go at it. I tell you, Tom, they all get left, them that bets on horse racing.”
“But don’t some of them make slats of money? Answer me that.”
“They don’t make no money what sticks to ’em.”
“What do you mean by that, Bob? I don’t understand.”
“I mean that they lose it the same way they make it, so it don’t stick to ’em. Do you see?”
“Yes, I see. But how’s a feller like me goin’ to make any money, Bob, if he don’t bet any?”
“Now, Tom, you’re gettin’ to somethin’ I’ve been thinkin’ about, and I’ll let you into the secret. You see, Tom, I don’t believe in horse bettin’ the way you do, but I ain’t afraid to take chances all the same.”
“What is it, Bob?” interrupted Tom, eager to get into the secret.
“Wall Street,” replied Bob, striking the attitude of a money king.
“Do you mean it, Bob?” asked young Flannery, incredulously.
“Of course I mean it, Tom. There’s piles of money down there.”
“I know there is, Bob, but how are fellers like you ’n’ me going to get it?”
“Why, by speculatin’, of course. How does any of ’em make it?”
“Them fellers are all rich, Bob. They didn’t go down there the same as what we would go, with only five dollars,” replied Tom.
“They didn’t, did they? Well, tell me if Jay Gould, and the old man Sage, and half a dozen more of them big fellers, didn’t go into Wall Street without a cent?”
“I can’t tell you, Bob; I never heard anybody say,” answered Tom, humbly.
“Well, Tom Flannery, I should think you would find out such things. Don’t you never want to know anything?”
“I ain’t been thinkin’ about Wall Street, and them fellers you speak about, Bob,” apologized Tom. “But I wish you’d tell me about ’em, for I’d like to know how they made their money.”
“Well, I’ll tell you some other time,” said Bob, with assumed ease. As a matter of fact, however, he did not know himself, but was not willing to admit so much to Tom. He therefore decided to change the subject at once before getting cornered.
“Now, Tom,” he continued, “I’ll tell you what it is. I’ve jest thought what we’ll do, you ’n’ me and Herbert.”
“What is it, Bob?”
“Well, you see we got knocked out of our breakfast this morning, Tom, so I think the best thing we can do is to have a big dinner tonight.”
“I think so too, Bob,” said Tom, eagerly.
“You see, ’twould be a celebration of the way we worked the detective business.”
“So ’twould, Bob. That’s a good idea, I think.”
“I think so, too, Tom, and we’ll have a regular first class lay out.”
“It will be immense, Bob, I know ’twill,” said Tom, with enthusiasm. “I never had a big dinner, Bob.”
“No, I should think you never did, but you won’t be hungry, Tom, when you get done with the one we will have tonight.”
“I hope I won’t, Bob.”
“So do I,” answered Bob, comically.
“When will Herbert be here?” asked Tom, looking at the largeTribuneclock.
“It’s time for him to show up now.”
“I should think so, too,” replied Tom, with an expression of doubt.
He was thinking about that morning’s experience when Herbert failed to appear till after he had breakfasted.
In a little time young Randolph joined them. He was as much surprised as Tom had been at the change made in Bob’s personal appearance by his handsome new suit.
“You must go down and let Mr. Goldwin see you with it on,” said he.
“When shall we start, Bob?” put in Tom Flannery, who couldn’t see the propriety in delaying dinner simply to discuss new clothes.
“Are you so very hungry?” laughed Bob, good naturedly.
“I should think I am, for I haven’t had no dinner.”
“It don’t make no difference, Tom, whether you did or not. You’d be starvin’ all the same.”
“Well, I can’t help it; I think it’s time to eat, don’t you, Herbert?”
“Yes, it is about time for dinner,” replied our hero. “Are you ready to go, Bob?”
“Yes, but we won’t go up to the Boss Tweed tonight,” replied the young detective, somewhat pompously.
“Bob is goin’ to ask us up town for a big lay out,” said Tom.
Herbert looked doubtful.
“That’s so,” said Bob. “We will have kind of a blow out all by ourselves.”
“And shall we do the town afterwards, as the bloods say?” asked Tom.
“What does ‘doing the town’ mean?” asked Herbert. The expression was new to him.
“It’s goin’ round and seeing the sights,” replied Bob. “But come, let’s be movin’. We can talk about doin’ the town while we are at dinner.”
“So I say,” said Tom, with characteristic hunger.
THE GREAT BANQUET.
“Gewhittaker! this is splendid, Bob. I didn’t think we was coming to no such tony place as what this is,” said Tom Flannery.
“Didn’t I tell you it wa’n’t no Jim Fisk or Boss Tweed ranch?” replied Bob.
“So you did, Bob; but you see I didn’t know about them big glass—what do you call ’em?”
“Chandeliers,” suggested Herbert.
“Chandeliers, that’s it; but ain’t they stunnin’, though?”
“Well, there ain’t nothin’ mean about ’em, I should think,” answered Bob.
“No, nor ’bout anything here,” said Tom. “I never see so much style slung round before, did you, Herbert?”
“I don’t know,” answered young Randolph, carelessly.
“Say, Tom, don’t make so much fuss about this place. ’Tain’t nothin’; no, ’tain’t nothin’, Tom, beside some er the tony places further up town.”
A waiter now came along and handed a bill of fare to Bob, and took away the glasses to fill them with ice.
“Do them fellers always dress up so with a swallow tail on, Bob?” asked Tom.
“Yes, at a swell place, like this is, they do,” answered Bob.“Now that waiter he will be right back and want our orders. The first thing is soup, and there’s three kinds—potage Julienne,suprême, andconsommé à la royale. Which will you have, Herbert?”
“You may give me thepotage Julienne,” replied the young Vermonter.
“Say ’em again, Bob; I didn’t quite catch ’em before,” said Tom.
Bob smiled, and obeyed the request.
“Why not have ’em all, Bob?” said Tom, eagerly.
“’Cause ’tain’t regular to do that way.”
“Well, they are all on there for us, ain’t they?”
“They are on for us to take whichever one we want.”
“And I can’t have but one?”
“No.”
“Well, I thought at these er—what do you call ’em?—dinners a feller had everything in the old bill, if he wanted it.”
“Table d’hôte, you mean, Tom Flannery, but you’re way off, you are; nobody ever has everything.”
Tom looked disappointed, even sad.
“Well,” continued Bob, “I’m waiting for your order. Which soup will you have?”
“Which you goin’ to have, Bob?”
“I’m goin’ to have theconsommé.”
“Then I’ll take the other one,” said Tom.
“Thesuprême?”
“That’s him,” replied Tom.
“Why do you prefer that?” laughed Herbert.
“Well, you see, it sounds better. That one that Bob has took I can’t make no sense out of it nohow, and I don’t believe it’s good to eat, either—anything with a name like that.”
the great banquet.
“But the name of your soup is not much better.”
“That’s so, Herbert. Blamed if I know what they wants to put such stuff on fer a feller to eat fer,” said Tom, with an air of disgust.
“Well, Tom, you may as well get used to these names, for you’ll get a lot of ’em before you get through this bill,” said Bob, laughing.
“Them names don’t go all the way through, do they, Bob?” asked Tom, alarmed.
“Yes, plumb through to the end.”
“Well, that will spoil my dinner, then, for I don’t know nothing about such words.”
“No, I guess it won’t spoil your dinner, Tom; I’ll bet you will eat like a hungry tramp before we get through.”
“Maybe I will, Bob Hunter, but I’d like to know what I’m eatin’ all the same,” replied Tom, somewhat indignant. He did not like to be compared to a hungry tramp.
“That’s all right, Tom Flannery; now don’t you get off your base so sudden like. You will think you never struck a lay out like this before you get half way down the bill,” said Bob, trying to restore good feeling.
“Well, I hope I will, that’s what I say. A feller ought to get something good when he has to wade through such blamed old names as these, that don’t mean nothin’.”
“But they do mean somethin’, jest as much as what our words mean to us.”
“Do you mean to tell me, Bob Hunter, that anybody uses these words?”
“Of course they do, Tom. They are French words, and French folks know what they mean.”
Tom thought for a moment; then he said:
“I was way off, Bob. I thought it was some words jest made up for this bill, ’cause you see I don’t know nothin’ about French.”
The waiter now reappeared, bringing with him two long rolls of French bread, a supply of butter, and three glasses of ice water.
Presently the soup was brought on.
“Sail right in now, Herbert, you and Tom,” said Bob. “The next course will be right along.”
Tom took a few drops, timidly, then a larger portion—less timidly—and now he put on a full head of steam and worked the spoon like a trip hammer.
When his plate was empty he said: “I think I struck it right, Bob; I knew I hit the best name.”
“Why, was yours good, Tom?” replied Bob.
“I should think it was, Bob. It was way up, that’s what it was. You see ’tain’t always, Bob, that a feller can pick a winner the first time.”
“Now you’re givin’ us some more of your horse racin’ expressions, Tom. Can’t you never let ’em alone, ’specially at a tony dinner like this is?” said Bob.
“Well, I didn’t think about that, Bob. I didn’t mean to do nothin’ wrong. But you see, Bob, I didn’t know of no other way to get at it. This orderin’ stuff by these blamed words is takin’ chances—what I call bigger chances than bettin’ on a horse race.”
Young Randolph and Bob laughed heartily at Tom’s remarks.
The next course was now put on the table. It came in a large platter. Three plates were placed before Bob, and he served the fish and potatoes in a very creditable manner.
“Now comes theentrées,” said Bob.
“What are them things, Bob?” said Tom, while ravenously devouring the portion before him.
“Well, I was jest goin’ to give ’em to you when you busted in on me,” replied Bob. "Here they are:
“Fillet piqué.
“Fricandeau de Veau.
“Pâtés aux huitres.”
“Can’t a fellow get more’n one go at ’em, Bob?” said Tom, comically.
“That’s all, only one go, Tom; which will you have?”
“I’ll take the first one, Bob.”
“Thefillet piqué?”
“Yes, if that’s the first one.”
“Well, ’tis; but, Tom, you’re way off. You didn’t pick no winner this time, as you say, for that dish ain’t no good.”
“Where did you get on to them blamed names, Bob? You’re slingin’ jest as much style here, too, as you did in the detective business.”
“Well, why wouldn’t I know ’bout ’em, Tom? Didn’t I work in one of these places for a good while, and didn’t I pay some attention to the way things was done?”
“So you did, Bob; I didn’t think about that.”
“I, too, have been surprised, Bob, to see how familiar you seemed with the various dishes,” said Herbert.
“Well, that’s how it come. You see I picked it up.”
“But you are as much at ease serving the dinner as I am at eating it.”
“How much?” said Bob, feeling in his pocket for loose change.
“What do you mean?” asked Herbert, seriously.
Bob smiled, and Tom burst into a characteristic laugh. It was the first time since the dinner commenced that he had seen the funny side of anything. Tom Flannery was not given to looking upon the comical side. He was too credulous for that; but when anything did strike him as funny, and he made up his mind to treat it as such, the outburst of laughter that followed—laughter that was rich and childlike—was something to do one good.
Now, there was nothing especially bright or funny about Bob’s remark that should have caused Tom to become so hilarious. In fact, it was more Herbert’s serious manner, than what Bob said, that set him off.
“’Twas an old chestnut, any way, Bob,” as Tom said the next day; “but Herbert looked so honest about it, jest as if you wasn’t talkin’ jokes, that it jest made me lay myself out and shout. I couldn’t er stopped, Bob, ef it had killed me.”
When the laughter had subsided, Bob explained his joke to Herbert, and then said:
“You have not told me what you will have. Here comes the waiter for our orders.”
“You order ’em, Bob,” said Tom. “You know what’s good.”
“That is a good suggestion, Tom, and meets with my approval,” remarked Herbert.
Bob accordingly ordered for all three, and his selection gave excellent satisfaction to his guests.
The next course was simply maccaroni, cooked in the Italian style, with tomato dressing.
“This is bang up, Bob,” said Tom Flannery, smacking his lips. “Them Eyetalians are some good after all, ain’t they?”
Roast duck followed the maccaroni, with jelly, and fine cut celery with dressing.
Then came ice cream, followed by cheese—fromage de Brie.
“Bob, there’s somethin’ wrong about this,” said Tom, seriously, referring to the last course. “Jest get on to that piece, will you?” and Tom passed his portion to Bob.
“Don’t be a fool, now, Tom Flannery,” said Bob, with assumed displeasure, while he struggled hard to keep from giggling.
“Well, I ain’t no fool, Bob; I guess I know when I know a thing,” said Tom, indignantly. “I tell you that piece is all spoilt,” and, to make sure of his statement, he took it in his fingers, and without regard to good manners placed it close to his nose, and gave it a genuine test.
Bob threw himself back in the chair, and exploded with laughter. Herbert did likewise. But Tom was mad. He thought Bob had played a trick on him, and he said:
“I don’t intend to be imposed upon in any such way as what this is, Bob Hunter. I’ll show you that I can put up jobs, too, ef you think it is so much fun.”
Now Brie cheese is somewhat soft, so much so that it many times adheres slightly to whatever it touches. Tom had rashly taken it up in his fingers, and now, while breathing forth malice and threats against Bob, he chanced to put his fingers up to his mouth. This brought them again in close proximity to his nose.
“Gewhopper!” yelled Tom, as he thrust his hand into his trousers pocket with a view to better protecting his nose. “I wouldn’t er thought this of you, Bob Hunter!”
Both Bob and Herbert were convulsed with laughter, and were holding their sides from pain.
From the fact that they laughed so uncontrollably, and that they did not deny his charge, Tom felt sure that he had been made the butt of a foul joke, and he resented it spunkily. This of course only made the situation more ridiculous, and the more Tom said, the harder Bob and Herbert laughed. At length, however, Bob quieted down sufficiently to remark:
“Tom, listen to me. You’re the biggest fool I ever see.”
“Yes, you think you’ve made a fool of me, don’t you, Bob Hunter? But you hain’t, for I got on to your game before I got any er that durned stuff into my mouth.”
“Oh, don’t you be so ignorant, Tom Flannery. The trouble is with you, you’re a chump, you don’t know nothin’ about livin’ at high toned places like this is.”
“No, nor I don’t want to nuther, Bob Hunter. Ef that stuff is what you call high toned livin’, why I don’t want no more of it in mine. I’ll——”
In the excitement of the conversation, Tom forgot to keep his hand housed up longer in his pocket, and now the tips of his fingers unconsciously found their way close to his nose again.
This was what caused Tom to break off his sentence so abruptly. He didn’t say anything for a minute, but he looked a whole volume of epithets.
Herbert and Bob started in on another round of laughter that still further irritated Tom.
“I’m goin’,” said he, slinging his napkin savagely upon the table; “I won’t stand this business no more, Bob Hunter.”
“Sit down, Tom,” commanded Bob; “there’s more to come yet. You hain’t had no coffee yet, nor nuts and raisins.”
Tom immediately replaced the napkin in his lap, and pulled up to the table again. Coffee, nuts and raisins! Oh, no, TomFlannery couldn’t allow his grievance to deprive him of these luxuries!
“Now, Tom,” said Bob, “I jest want to show you that you’ve made a fool of yourself, and that we hain’t made no fool of you. Of course we couldn’t help laughin’ to see you actin’ so redickerlous, Tom, and all about a little piece of cheese, too. A feller would er thought, Tom, that you’d been dumped in a sewer, to see you carry on; but when you get one er them crazy notions in your head, why, there’s no doin’ anything with you, but to let you sail in and enjoy yourself.”
Bob then ate his choice bit of Brie with a keen relish, much to the surprise of Tom, and I may say Herbert as well, for the latter’s taste had not been educated up to the point where he could eat such food.
At length reconciliation was reached, and Tom was once more happy. When the coffee had been drunk, the three boys, while eating nuts and raisins, discussed the problem of money making.
“How about the Wall Street racket?” remarked Tom.
“You refer to speculating, I suppose?” replied Herbert.
“Yes. You see my capital ain’t earnin’ me nothin’.”
“Well, I have had very little time to think about that since we first spoke of it. In fact, I am not in favor of the idea.”
“What! not in favor of spekerlatin’?” said Bob, with astonishment.
“Nuther am I,” put in Tom, wisely; “I don’t think it’s safe.”
“But you think it’s safe to bet on horse racin’, don’t you, Tom Flannery?”
“Well, it’s safer’n what spekerlatin’ is, that’s what I think, Bob Hunter.”
“Humph! You know a lot, don’t you, Tom Flannery?”
“No, I don’t know a lot about them Wall Street schemes, ef that’s what you mean; but I guess I can pick a winner at racin’.”
“Well, ef you don’t know nothin’ about spekerlatin’, how are you goin’ to use any judgment? Tell me that now, Tom Flannery.”
“You kinder want to bulldoze me, don’t you, Bob Hunter? You’ve got your head sot on spekerlatin’, and you want to make me think jest like you do.”
“You tire me, Tom Flannery,” said Bob, with a great show of disgust. “I’d try and have some sense, ef I was you.”
“All right, Bob, then I’ll try ’n’ have some sense—I’ll do jest as you say, and spekerlate till my five dollars is all blowed in. Now, does that satisfy you, Bob?”
Tom Flannery had almost always yielded readily to Bob’s judgment. This sudden independence of opinion, therefore, was a surprise to young Hunter.
“Why, that’s all right, Tom,” said he, instantly changing his attitude. “I don’t care nothin’ about your spekerlatin’ ef you don’t want to; but I want to make some money, that’s what I do, and I thought you did too, Tom.”
“So I do, Bob, so I do; but you see so many folks loses money down there in Wall Street, and some of them big fellers, too, with heaps of money, just dead loads of it, to back ’em.”
“Well, that’s so, Tom, I know they loses sometimes, but don’t lots of ’em make money? Now answer me that.”
“Yes, you are right, Bob, they do some of ’em strike it rich, but as you said about the racin’ I guess the money ain’t good money, fer it don’t stick to ’em.”
“Well, I should think it stuck to Jay Gould, didn’t it?”
“Yes, he is one of the few successful ones,” said Herbert, answering the question for Tom.
“Yes, but there are lots and lots of them kings of Wall Street,” persisted Bob, who had a strong desire to become a speculator.
“So there are, Bob,” replied Herbert, “but they do not hold their rank throughout their lives. A man that is called a king in Wall Street one day, may be a beggar the next day.”
“Think of that, Bob,” put in Tom Flannery, exultantly.
“Well, I know, but then them kings don’t all go up like that.”
“But the majority of them do. If you will get a book that gives the history of Wall Street, you will be surprised to see how thousands, hundreds of thousands, and even millions, are swept away almost without warning.”
“Whew! just think of it! A whole million dollars!” exclaimed Tom. “Say, Herbert, how much is a million dollars? It must be a whoppin’ big pile, that’s what I think.”
“A million dollars—let me see, Tom, how I can explain it so that you will comprehend its——”
“So I will what?” interrupted Tom, doubtful of the meaning of the word “comprehend.”
Herbert made this clear, and then said:
“Now, Tom, you have a five dollar bill, and——”
“Yes, and it’s a new one, too, crisp as a ginger snap,” interrupted young Flannery.
“All right, then, a new five dollar bill. Now, suppose you had altogether twenty bills just like this one, you would have how much money?”
“Can you tell, Bob?” said Tom, grinning.
“Why, of course I can!” replied Bob, throwing his head back, proudly.
“Well, let’s see ef you can.”
“One hundred dollars,” answered Bob.
“I guess that’s right, Herbert, a hundred dollars; but I never see so much money all at one time, did you, Bob?”
Herbert proceeded with the illustration by saying:
“Then, Tom, you understand how many five dollar bills it takes to make one hundred dollars. Now, it would require ten one hundred dollar bills to make one one thousand dollar bill.”
“Gewhopple! that’s climbin’ up, ain’t it, Bob?” exclaimed Tom, incredulously.
“Oh, but that’s nothing,” said Herbert. “Just listen: It would take a hundred one thousand dollar bills to make one hundred thousand dollars, and it would require ten times one hundred thousand dollars to make one million.”
“Well, that’s fur enough,” said Tom, scratching his head. “Don’t give me no more tonight, for I can’t take it in no way. A million dollars; and you say some er them kings loses so much money as all this in almost no time?”
“Why, yes; perhaps in a single day,” answered Herbert.
“And you think, Bob Hunter, that we could go down there with only five dollars apiece and lay out them kings and scoop the boodle, do you? Now, answer me that.”
“Well, it does seem kinder like takin’ chances, ef them fellers loses money like that.”
“Of course it does, Bob, fer you see we wouldn’t have but one go at the game with only five dollars; would we, Herbert?”
“Five dollars wouldn’t go very far, for a fact,” replied Herbert, “and in my opinion it would be lost very quickly.”
“But I’ve heard of fellers that went down there without no money, and they made loads of it.”
“Very true,” said Herbert; “but did you ever hear of the thousands that went down there and came away without a cent?”
“No, I never did,” admitted Bob, frankly.
Tom smiled quietly, for he felt that Bob would have to acknowledge himself mistaken, and at last come over to his side.
“Well, now, there is the very point,” said Herbert, “and it is the one that nobody stops to think about. A report is circulated that some one makes a big haul in Wall Street, and, without thinking about the thousands of people that lose money there, a thousand or two more people try their luck at speculating, thinking, each one of them, to make a great haul too. But the result is the same as it was with the other thousand speculators—the money is swallowed up, and gone forever.”
“What becomes of it all?” asked Bob, much impressed by Herbert’s well founded argument.
“Well, the most of it goes into the pockets of the kings.”
“Then I shouldn’t think them kings would get busted, as you say they do,” said Bob, always keen at making a point.
“They would not if they had to deal only with the small speculators, such as you would like to be. If that were the case they would win nearly every time. But kings are the ones who break kings.”
“Oh, I see now,” said Bob. “There are a lot of ’em, and they jest go for each other. Is that it?”
“Yes, that is the way they do it.”
“Well, I guess you are right, then, Herbert—you and Tom.”
“I feel sure I am. Mr. Goldwin talked with me about it today, and told me never to speculate.”
“But he speculates,” said Bob, “and he is worth a lot of money.”
“Oh, no, never.”
“What’s he call himself a broker for, then?”
“Why, a broker is not necessarily a speculator. A broker is one who buys and sells stocks or bonds for some one else—for a speculator, and he gets his commission or pay for doing the business.”
“Well, I guess I was way off, Herbert. I thought all of them brokers was speculators, and I knew lots of ’em was solid with money.”
“Yes, that is the way of it,” replied Herbert. “The broker makes the money and the speculator loses it, usually.”
“Don’t brokers never lose nothin’, Herbert?” asked Tom.
“No, not unless they trust some one who fails to pay them.”
“Well, I thought you would get sick er spekerlatin’, Bob, and I’m glad you’ve done it before you’re broke,” said Tom Flannery. “I don’t want no spekerlatin’ for me.”
“No, but you’d like a go at horse racin’ all the same, Tom Flannery,” said Bob.
“No, I wouldn’t nuther, Bob, fer you talked me out er bettin’ and into spekerlatin’, and now Herbert here has jest upset the spekerlatin’ idea, so I’m out of it all, Bob.”
“Good,” said Herbert; “I am glad you have come to so wise a decision.”
“So am I,” said Bob, heartily.
“So am I,” echoed Tom, with equal fervor.
“But now,” said Bob, “what are we goin’ to do with our money? It ain’t earnin’ us nothin’, you see.”
“I think the best plan, Bob,” said Herbert, thoughtfully, “would be for you and Tom to put your money in the savings bank. There it will be safe, and will be earning a little interest all the time. Let it remain there until we see a chance to invest it to good advantage, and in the meantime add as much to it as possible.”
“I never thought of that before,” said Bob.
“Nuther did I,” added Tom.
“Strikes me ’tain’t a bad scheme,” continued Bob. “What do you say, Tom?”
“Well, I don’t see no great money in it, anyhow,” answered young Flannery. “But if Herbert says it’s the best thing, why I s’pose ’tis.”
“It is the best plan, I am sure,” said young Randolph. “Very few speculators ever come out rich. The men who gain wealth are those who invest their money carefully, and put it where it will be safe.”
BOB HUNTER’S AMBITION.
On the following day, after the paper trade of the morning was over, Bob and Tom, acting upon young Randolph’s advice, went to the Emigrants’ Industrial Savings Bank, and deposited each five dollars. They felt very proud as they came out into Chambers Street with their bank books.
“It’s a starter any way,” said Bob.
“I’ve been thinking over what Herbert said, and I guess between you’n me, Tom, he is ’bout right.”
“That’s what I think too, Bob,” replied young Flannery, for aside from the matter of betting on horse racing and speculating, he always agreed with Bob.
“I think we was in big luck, Tom, when we run on to Herbert Randolph.”
“I think so, too, Bob; but why do you think so?”
“Why do I think so! Well, ef that ain’t a queer question, Tom Flannery. Would you a’ had that bank book now, with your name, Thomas Flannery, in plain writin’ writ across it, I’d like to know, ef it hadn’t been for Vermont?”
“No, I wouldn’t. That’s so, Bob, I wouldn’t, fer to be honest with you, Bob, I think I’d put it on racin’.”
“So you would, Tom, ef you’d had it, but you wouldn’t er had it.”
“Well, I never thought of that, Bob, but it’s so, ain’t it?”
“I should say it is, and I wouldn’t er had my bank book or these new clothes either.”
“And the big supper, Bob?”
“That’s so, Tom, and the big supper too. I tell you, Tom Flannery, ’twas great luck when we struck Vermont.”
bob and tom coming out of the bank.
“That’s so, Bob, so it was. But say, Bob, don’t you think ’twas kinder lucky for Herbert when he fell in with you?”
“I don’t know ’bout that, Tom. How do you figure it?”
“Why, I figures it in this way, Bob; ef it hadn’t been fer you he would be down in that old Gunwagner’s cellar now.”
“Well, that’s so, Tom, but he has more than paid me up, though.”
“How did he do it, Bob?” asked Tom eagerly.
“Ain’t he helping me right along, I’d like to know?”
“I hain’t heard much about it, Bob. What has he done for you?”
“Yes, you have heard about it, too, Tom Flannery. Didn’t I tell you how he teaches me every night?”
“Oh, yes, you told me about that, Bob, but that ain’t much—’tain’t like doin’ the detective business, is it?”
“Well, no, of course it hain’t, but it’s just as good, Tom, and a good deal more so, I think.”
“Well, I don’t think no such thing, Bob.”
“Well, ef I do, that’s all right, ain’t it? I tell you, Tom, ’tain’t every feller that can do the teachin’ act.”
“Nuther can every fellow do the detective business. Ef you want to know what I think, Bob Hunter, I’ll tell you.”
“All right, Tom, sail in.”
“Well, I think, ef I was you, I’d jest let this learnin’ business go, and I’d make myself a detective. No feller could put more style into it than what you could, Bob.”
“Tom, you’re way off again. A feller can’t make no kind of a detective, nor nothin’ else, neither, unless he knows somethin’. I guess I know, and Herbert says so too.”
“Well, I hain’t got no learnin’,” replied Tom, somewhat pompously, as if to prove by himself that Bob’s statement was untrue.
“I know it,” said Bob, and stopped short.
Tom looked at him doubtfully.
“Then you might’s well say right out that I won’t make nothin’, Bob Hunter,” said he, his manner resembling that of one not a little indignant.
“Well, I said what I said, Tom, and if it fits you, why then am I to blame?”
Tom made no reply.
“It’s no use for you to get mad, Tom. Anybody would tell you jest the same as what I did. Now, the thing for you to do, Tom, is ter get some learnin’—you can do it.”
“Do you think I could, Bob?” replied Tom, coming round to Bob’s views, as he almost always did.
“Why, of course you could, Tom; ain’t I doin’ it?”
“Well, yes, I s’pose you are, Bob, but then you can do ’most anything.”
“That ain’t so, Tom. You can do it jest as well as what I can, ef you only try.”
“I never thought about that before, Bob,” said Tom, thoughtfully. “Who could I get to learn me?”
“You mustn’t say ‘learn you,’ Tom. Herbert says that hain’t right.”
“What is it, then, Bob?”
“He says I must say ‘teach me,’ because I’ve got to do the learning myself.”
“Well, that’s too much for me, Bob; I want to start in on somethin’ easier.”
At length this discussion ended by Tom falling in with Bob’s opinion as usual, and by his agreeing to commence at once attending an evening school.
A VISIT TO THE BANKER’S HOUSE.
The disturbing elements that had produced the somewhat dramatic and extraordinary scenes of the last week were now apparently quiet. But were they actually so? This is the question that Herbert Randolph and Bob Hunter asked themselves—a question that caused them much anxiety.
Felix Mortimer, to be sure, was in the Tombs awaiting his trial. But the granite wall and the great iron doors were alike powerless to imprison his mind. He was as free as ever to think and to plot. What schemes of revenge might not then be planned by this boy whose hatred for Herbert Randolph now undoubtedly burned more fiercely than ever? And Gunwagner, his companion in crime, was free to carry out any plan that might be agreed upon between them. He had given bonds to appear when wanted by the court, something that Felix Mortimer was unable to do. This is why the latter was still locked up, while the old fence was allowed his temporary freedom.
Except for the constant anxiety that Herbert and Bob felt over this matter, everything went smoothly with them. Papers sold briskly, work at the bank was congenial, and they had already become much interested in each other. The days flew by quickly, and they looked forward to the evenings, whichthey spent together as a time for enjoyment and improvement. As often as Tom Flannery could leave his evening school he joined them, and he was always welcome. No one could help liking him, he was so simple and honest. How keenly he enjoyed an evening with Herbert and Bob in their room, or strolling about the great city, as they not infrequently did! Their slender means would not warrant them in attending the theater often. Occasionally, however, they managed to get inexpensive admission tickets to a really good play. Bob Hunter usually procured them as a reward for some service he had given during the day, when his paper trade did not demand his attention. Many very good free lectures, too, were open to them, and they seldom failed to improve this opportunity. The Young Men’s Christian Association building, with its fine library and gymnasium, proved a very attractive resort to these three boys, whose happiness, though they lived in the most humble way, was doubtless equalled by few boys in the great metropolis, however luxurious their home and surroundings.
One evening in particular young Randolph found especially enjoyable. It came about in this way. Mr. Goldwin had a slight attack of rheumatism that caused him to remain at home. He sent a note to his office saying he should not be at the bank on that day, and requesting Herbert to come to his house late in the afternoon, and to bring with him a report of the day’s business, and whatever mail it would be desirable for the banker to see.
The young Vermonter read the note eagerly, and then immediately did the same thing over again. A peculiar pleasure shone in his eyes as he looked doubtingly at the little piece of paper. And now he saw a very attractive picture—arich family carriage into which a charmingly pretty girl was being helped by a blushing boy. He wondered why she had never been at the bank since that time, and speculated dreamily upon his chance of seeing her at her father’s house.
Thus the day wore away, and at the close of business hours young Randolph hurried from the bank, taking with him what he had been requested to bring.
At City Hall Park he stopped and informed Bob Hunter of his mission, and then went quickly to his room to put himself into the most presentable appearance possible with the somewhat scanty resources of his wardrobe.
His heart beat fast with expectations and fears as he ascended the brown stone steps of Mr. Goldwin’s house.
“Good evening, Mr. Randolph,” said the banker, greeting Herbert very cordially. “I hope you have a good report of today’s transactions for me.”
“Yes, I think this statement of the transactions will please you,” replied young Randolph politely.
“Excellent,” exclaimed the banker with a smile of satisfaction, as he read the report. “You have done a splendid day’s work. The market must have been unusually active. Why, here is a transaction of twenty thousand shares by one house alone—great customers, Breakwell & Co., great customers, bold men—not afraid of anything.”
“They certainly seem to be very enterprising,” remarked Herbert, feeling the necessity of saying something, and that that something should concur with his employer’s views.
“Most assuredly they are,” answered the banker, warming to the subject. “Why, if we had more houses like Breakwell & Co., Wall Street would see no dull days—no, sir, none at all. On the contrary, it would just hum with activity.”
“I suppose they are perfectly good, Mr. Goldwin,” remarked Herbert, not knowing what better reply to make.
“Good? Why, they are rated A1, and are reported to be very rich,” replied the banker.
“Did they make their money by speculating?”
“Yes, I understand so.”
“Are they sure of keeping it if they continue to speculate?”
“Well, now, you are asking me a difficult question. Nothing, you know, is certain in Wall Street.”