The screams of the ladies caused every broker to look up from the floor
of the Stock Exchange. Like a flash they saw a man and boy come tumbling
down upon them from the gallery. There was a party of four brokers
grouped together immediately under them, and, as a matter of
gravitation, they landed on top of them--on their heads and shoulders.
Hats were crushed and a confused mass of humanity scrambled about on the
floor. The yelling ceased when the shrill screams from the gallery were
heard, and brokers ran forward to help those who had fallen. The
pickpocket struck out desperately, trying to shake off Fred. In doing so
he hit Broker Bryant in the face. Bryant was a hard hitter himself, and
instantly returned the blow--a half dozen or more.
"Blast you, take that!" he hissed, and he gave him lightning-like blows
till he sank down on the floor unconscious.
"Won't somebody hold him?" Fred cried out. "He's a pickpocket!"
"Who is he?" somebody asked Bryant.
"I don't know and don't care," was the blunt reply. "He hit me in the
face after tumbling down on my head."
By this time the policeman on duty at the Stock Exchange pushed his way
through the crowd of brokers and called out:
"What is it? What's the trouble here?" and he looked at the pickpocket,
who was slowly pulling himself together.
"This man is a pickpocket," said Fred. "He took those ladies' purses up
there, and when I caught him at it he tried to throw me over the
gallery. He did throw me, but I brought him down with me."
"Good--good!" cried a broker. "Three cheers for the kid!"
The brokers cheered and then laughed.
"I am no pickpocket," exclaimed the thief, as soon as he saw the officer
had him. "The boy lies. I merely---"
"Officer, search him!" cried the elder of the two ladies up in the
gallery. "He has my purse and that of my daughter."
"Yes, search him! Search him!" called out a dozen at once.
Brokers held him and the officer searched him. He found the two purses
or pocketbooks in his pockets.
"That one is mine!" cried the elderly woman.
"What does it contain, madam?" the officer asked.
"Money and two diamond rings. You can open it and see for yourself."
It was opened and her claim verified.
"Madam, you will have to appear against this man," said the officer,
looking up at the elderly lady, and he led the prisoner out of the Stock
Exchange and into one of the many offices of the building.
The lady, accompanied by her husband and daughter, appeared in the room
and claimed her property. The young girl, who seemed to be about sixteen
years old, turned to Fred and said:
"We are indebted to you for recovering our purses. I hope you were not
hurt by the fall?"
"Only a little bit," he replied.
"I'm so sorry!"
"Oh, it's nothing," and he laughed. "It was fun to jerk him over with
me."
Then she laughed, too, and Fred thought hers the sweetest face he had
ever seen in all his life.
"What is your name?" she asked him.
"Fred Halsey."
"My name is Eva Gaines. I want to remember your name, for I never had
such a fright in all my life."
"I'll be sure to remember yours," Fred remarked.
"Why will you? Because you were hurt?"
Fred looked around and saw that everybody also in the room was listening
to the claiming of the two purses, so he went close up to her and said
in a half whisper:
"Because you are the most beautiful girl I ever saw."
"Oh, my!" and her face flushed and eyes sparkled.
Young as she was, she was woman enough to know that it was honest
admiration on the part of the youth. Fred seemed half frightened over
what he had said and drew back. But she gave him a look and a smile that
told him plainly he had not offended. He was going to say more to her,
but at that moment her father turned to her, saying:
"Here, daughter, your purse is yours again," and he held it out to her.
She took it, opened it quickly and glanced at its contents.
"Young man," said Mr. Gaines, turning to Fred, "you've got the right
stuff in you," and he extended his hand, which Fred grasped and shook.
"I won't forget you. I have a brother who is a member of the Stock
Exchange, and I want send your name to him. What is it?"
"I have his name, father," said the young girl.
"Ah, very well, then," and he gave Fred's hand another shake and turned
away.
But he left a $20 gold coin in it, which Fred's fingers closed over very
promptly. The next moment they were gone. Fred put the goldpiece in his
pocket, while the thought flashed through his mind that the young girl
was all gold herself. The officer took his name and address as a
witness, and then led his prisoner away to the police station. Just as
he was leaving the room a broker called out to Fred:
"That man will never forgive you for his arrest. He will set some
friends of his after you, so you had better be on your guard."
"I'm on my guard all the time, sir," Fred replied.
"What is your name?"
"Fred Halsey."
The broker wrote the name on his cuff and then went out of the room.
Fred thought nothing of the incident, and went out a moment or two later
himself, going to the street, hoping to see Bob and find out how B. & H.
was doing. Out on the street he found that nobody had heard of the
pickpocket's arrest in the Exchange building.
"I am $20 in on that racket, anyhow," he said to himself as he walked
around to the side entrance of the Exchange. "I would like to do as well
every day in the year. Lord, but she is a beauty!"
He was thinking of the girl. Somebody ran into him and the two came near
going down in a heap together.
"Hello, Fred! I'm in a hurry!" exclaimed the other.
It was Bob!
"Well, don't you know me well enough not to try to run over or through
me? You can save time by running around me every time."
But Bob was off like a flash, and Fred judged by that B. & H. was
humming, for Manson was booming it and Bob was his messenger. Seeing two
brokers talking near the New street entrance, Fred went over near enough
to hear one say:
"It will go to 70 to-morrow and somebody will be burnt."
"Yes, I think so, too,"
The Exchange closed for the day, and Fred went around to meet Bob again.
He met Manson at the foot of the stairs, his face flushed from the
excitement of his tremendous battle in the Exchange.
"Ah!" the big broker exclaimed. "I see you caught another thief to-day.
Why don't you turn detective? It seems to be your forte."
"I'd rather be a broker, sir," Fred replied.
"A broker, eh?" and Manson looked him full in the eyes. "Think you have
nerve enough for that?"
"Yes, sir. I've got nerve enough. It's money I want."
Manson laughed and shook his head.
"We all want money. That's what we are here for. But there are more
losers than winners."
"What one man loses another one wins," said Fred.
"Of course, but one man sometimes wins from a thousand at one turn, so
you see there are always more losers than winners," and the big broker
went on up to his office, leaving Fred at the foot of the stairs waiting
for Bob.
He was quietly waiting there and watching people come and go when he was
startled by a cry above. He glanced up and saw some one falling from the
upper floor and sprang aside just in time to escape being crushed. It
was a messenger boy from Broker Tracey's office.
"Oh, Lord!" gasped Fred. "He must be killed!" and he sprang forward to
pick him up.
The boy was unconscious. Instantly a dozen brokers were on hand to
render aid. Broker Tracey came running down to see about him and get the
telegram the boy was sent out with. Bob came hurrying down too.
"This is too bad," said Tracey. "I am sorry. He is a good messenger.
Janitor! Janitor!"
The janitor came and by that time the boy had recovered consciousness.
He groaned in agony. The physician, whose office was in the building,
examined him.
"Left arm and leg broken," he said.
"Lord, but I am sorry. Doctor, take charge of him, see him through and
send your bill to me. Tom, my boy, your pay shall go on just the same.
See if anything is wanted, janitor, and get it for him. Where is the
telegram, Tom?"
"In my pocket, sir," said Tom, white as a sheet.
It was found and given to the broker, who turned to Bob and said:
"Please send that off for me, Bob, and if you know of a boy who can make
a good messenger send him to me in the morning."
"Hello, Fred! This is the place for you!" and Bob grabbed Fred by the
arm and forced him around in front of Tracey. "Here's the one you want,
sir--Fred Halsey."
"All right; come here to-morrow morning."
So the next morning Fred went to Tracey's office and was engaged as
messenger. During the day B. & H. went to 87 and Fred as soon as he was
sent on an errand stopped in at the bank and bad his shares sold for
Halsey & Co.
Bob was getting $6 a week as messenger for Tracey and it pleased his
aunt greatly. The next day Tabor gave Bob a statement for Halsey & Co.,
showing a net profit of over $1,200, which he placed to their credit.
Fred and Bob were standing under the gallery of the Stock Exchange in
the place allotted to messengers, when Broker Keeley gave a howl and
sprang at the throat of Broker Gaines. They fell to the floor. The old
man turned his eyes toward Fred. They seemed to pop out of his head for
the maniac was choking him.
"I can't stand that!" cried Fred, and the next moment both his hands
were in Broker Keeley's hair. He let go the old man's throat, and a
dozen brokers ran in to separate them and quell the row.
Next day Fred said to Bob: "I met Gaines's typewriter just now and she
said Mr. Gaines had not been to the office since his row with Broker
Keeley. The clerk who is running the office insulted her and she wants
to leave."
"By George!" answered Bob, "Bryant's girl has just asked me to find a
place for her. What did you tell Callie?"
"I told her I would look out for her, and I will."
During the day Fred got a place for Callie with Broker Tabor, and Bob
secured a temporary place for Bertie Clayton in old Broker Bowles's
office.
The day after the two boys met the girls in a restaurant, and Callie
told Fred of a tip she had come across. It was Pacific Mail, and it was
going to be cornered.