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Fame and Fortune Weekly No. 1: A Lucky Deal; or The 'Cutest Boy in Wall Street

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<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</h2> THE DUDE AND THE VIOLETS. Jack hustled on his next errand as if the wings of Mercury were attached to his ankles. He was fairly tickled to death over the coup he had made on the market. Five thousand dollars! It kept ringing in his ears and marked time to his nimble footsteps. And it was pleasant music, too, you may well believe. When he got back, the first thing he did was to tell of his good luck to Millie. And wasn’t she glad? Well, don’t say a word! She had been fearing the worst and sympathizing with him in her mind, and after all it had been a false alarm. “What are you going to do with so much money?” she asked, with a smile. “I haven’t decided whether I’ll buy a farm or start a bank,” replied Jack, with a happy grin. “What a comparison!” laughed the pretty stenographer. A little while afterward he told Mr. Bishop, and the manager was amazed. “You’re a lucky boy, Jack; but don’t try it again.” Late in the afternoon he went around to Bird’s office. The big broker was in and expecting a visit from him. “It’s better to be born lucky than rich, young man,” he said, genially. “Do you know, if you had allowed yourself to get caught in that deal I should have been tempted to have given you a dressing-down. As it was, you took altogether too many chances. You only escaped by the skin of your teeth. Why, I got rid of my holdings at sixty-nine two days ago, and I was half tempted to sell you out at the same time. Only, you see, that isn’t according to Hoyle.” “I’m glad you didn’t treat me like a kid—for that is what it would have amounted to if you had used your own judgment against my orders.” “I’m glad myself, seeing how the thing has turned out. I’ll send you a statement and a certified check to-morrow.” “Don’t forget to deduct your regular commissions,” said Jack, promptly. “All right,” replied the broker, who understood the boy thoroughly. “I wish I was of age,” said Jack, wistfully. “Why so?” “Because then I could sign checks and not have to draw my money personally whenever I wanted to use it. It would save me lots of time.” “I hope you aren’t thinking of making a practice of this sort of thing. If you are, you’ll make a mistake. The best thing that could happen to people who come into Wall Street is to lose their first deal. It might serve to scare them off for good.” “Your advice is good, Mr. Bird, and I am much obliged to you for it; but if I see another good thing going to waste I should feel sorry to let it get away from me.” “Good things are not handed out to the public, Jack. You came by the L. S. tip through sheer horse luck—a chance in a million.” Jack made no answer to that, but took his leave soon, after promising to dine with Mr. Bird the next evening at Sherry’s. On the way back to the office our young messenger boy bought a nice bunch of violets, which he artfully attached to Millie’s Remington while she was taking down the final dictation of the day in Mr. Atherton’s room. “Where did these come from?” she asked Jack, who was perched over in the corner, reading a copy of that week’s “Financial Chronicle,” as she reseated herself at the machine. The sly puss knew pretty well who had bought them, but that was one of her little coquetries. “I think it was that dude that was in here the other day that brought them expressly for you. He works upstairs, you know,” replied Jack, smothering a grin. Before she could reply, in walked that self-same dude, Percy Chamberlain, with a duplicate bunch of violets. And straightway he pranced up to Millie and held out the flowers, with a low bow. “Will you accept these flowers, Miss Price? Bought them expressly for you, don’t you know.” Millie was astonished. “Why, hello, George Augustus Fitzwilliam!” exclaimed Jack, dropping the paper and gliding over to the dude clerk, whose left hand he seized and shook as if he were some long-lost friend. “We haven’t seen you for two whole days. Where have you been keeping yourself?” Percy, who was a tall, thin, good-looking Englishman, one of the clerks of the British & North American Fire Insurance Company, with offices on the third floor of the building, gave a howl of pain and then hopped about the floor like a monkey on a hot stove. “What do you mean, fellow, squeezing my—aw—hand in this mannah? Don’t you know any bettah?” Percy was very angry indeed. “What do you want me to do? Give you one of those pumphandle shakes? That isn’t my style, George Augustus,” snickered Jack. “I wish you would keep your distance, boy,” said Percy, resentfully. “I don’t wish to be bothered by you, don’t you know. You’re only the office boy. Really, Miss Price,” he said stooping to pick up the violets he had dropped, “these American boys are deuced annoying, don’t you know. These flowers are for you. Hot-house specials, from Hutchins’,” mentioning a prominent florist on Broadway. “Gee!” exclaimed Jack, who had been watching his chance to chip in again, “I’m sorry to call you a liar, George Augustus, but you bought ’em off that dago down stairs. That’s where these came from, and if there’s any difference between ’em I’d like you to point it out. Same trade-mark on each,” and he pointed to the bit of red cord with which each bunch was secured. “One bunch is quite enough for me,” said Millie, with a laugh. “If you’d come first, Mr. Chamberlain, why, I might have accepted yours.” “Really——” began Percy. “Come, George Augustus, you’d better sneak. Miss Price has several letters to copy, and she wants to get home some time this afternoon, don’t you know,” mimicking the Englishman. “Won’t you accept them, Miss Price,” persisted Percy, after an indignant look at Hazard. “You will have to excuse me, Mr. Chamberlain,” said Millie, turning to her machine and commencing to click off her notes, thereby ignoring the dudish visitor. “Good-bye, George Augustus,” cried Jack, as the disappointed Englishman started slowly for the door. “Come in again when you haven’t so long to stay.” “You’re an insulting fellow. I don’t wish you to notice me again,” angrily retorted the insurance clerk just as he was passing out of the doorway. “It was very kind of you to bring me those violets,” said Millie to Jack as the door closed. “It’s my favorite flower.” “You see, I’m getting reckless now; I’ve money to burn,” laughed the boy. “Next thing you know, I’ll be asking you to marry me.” “You silly boy!” exclaimed Millie, blushing furiously as Jack ran away. <hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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