THE GOPHER MINING COMPANY TURNS UP A TRUMP.
“This is my lucky day,” said Jack to Millie next morning as he stood
in front of her desk while she was taking the japanned case off her
machine.
“What--Friday?”
“Yep.”
“Mother calls it hangman’s day, and superstitious people won’t do lots
of things on that day.”
“Pooh! America was discovered on a Friday; many of our most
distinguished men were born on a Friday, and many famous events
occurred on a Friday. So there you are!”
Jack went to his work, and Millie started to copy several letters from
shorthand notes of the day before.
About this time Mr. Bishop came in, and the first thing he did was to
send Jack with an order to a William Street printer.
When he got back, the cashier handed him a letter addressed to him,
care of the firm, bearing the Denver postmark, which had been delivered
by the postman while he was out.
In one corner was the imprint of the “Gopher Gold Mining Company.”
The boy tore it open and found a brief note and a bank draft.
The latter represented the third annual dividend, this time of three
cents per share, on 5,000 shares, which amounted to $150.
An accompanying printed enclosure intimated that the dividends would
probably hereafter be declared semi-annually, owing to increased output
and superior character of the ore mined.
There was also a notification that the price of shares had been
advanced from 15 to 25 cents, and that only a limited number of shares
would be sold at that figure, the company reserving the right to still
further advance the price without notice.
“Gee!” muttered the boy. “And I only gave that old fellow fifty dollars
for the stock, and here I’ve got back one hundred and fifty already,
while the value the company places on five thousand shares is twelve
hundred and fifty. Maybe I didn’t strike it lucky when I bought those
certificates.”
“There must be something interesting in that letter from the way you
are smiling over it,” said Millie as she passed him on her way back to
her desk.
“Hold on, Millie,” he said, and she stopped to listen to what he had to
say. “Didn’t I tell you this was my lucky day?”
“I think you did,” she answered, with a smile.
“Remember that mining stock I bought some months ago from an old
gentleman by the name of Tuggs?”
She nodded.
“I only gave him fifty dollars for the lot, and now I’ve received my
first dividend of one hundred and fifty, with more to come, and the
company’s estimate of the value of my shares is twelve hundred and
fifty dollars. How’s that for luck?”
Of course, Millie congratulated him; so also did both Mr. Atherton and
Mr. Bishop when they heard about it later on.
So likewise did the other employees when the intelligence reached them,
though no doubt the younger clerks envied him his luck.
Indeed, so elated was Jack over his mining shares that he quite forgot
for a time the much more important subject of the D. & G. stock, which,
however, still clung around the 90 mark as though those figures had
some potent attraction.
When he went to lunch he met Oliver Bird coming out of a Broad Street
cafe.
Of course, he had to tell him about his luck with the Gopher Gold
Mining shares.
“Glad to hear it, Jack,” said the big broker, patting him on the
back. “Nothing succeeds like success, young man. You were successful
in pulling five thousand dollars out of the fire when another and
more experienced person, had he taken the risks you did with that L.
S. stock, would have probably gone up Salt Creek. Had those Gopher
certificates been offered to me on the same terms you gobbled them at,
I shouldn’t have touched them with a ten-foot pole.”
“They were not so wild-catty, after all,” grinned the lad.
“It seems not. You’re a pretty ’cute boy.”
“It isn’t my fault; I must have been born so,” laughed Jack as the
broker gave him another slap on the shoulder and passed on.
“Hello, Mr. Hartz,” to that operator, who came up at that moment. “Seen
Percy Chamberlain to-day?”
The broker’s eyes twinkled, and he shook his head.
“He hasn’t dropped in on our Millie for three whole days,” grinned
Jack. “Must have struck a new mash somewhere. She has my sympathy.
How’s D. & G.?”
“What about it?” asked Hartz, sharply, fixing Jack with his gimlet eyes.
“You’re buying it, aren’t you?”
“Who said so?” demanded the broker, more aggressively than before.
“Nobody that I know of. It just struck me that you were--that’s all,”
said the boy, lightly.
“You must have a reason for mentioning it,” said Hartz, gripping him
tightly by the arm.
“You told me that if I had twenty-five or fifty dollars to spare, to
buy some--on margin, of course.”
“Oh,” said Hartz, letting go of his arm.
“So I went the limit of my little pile,” grinned Jack.
“Then you made a haul?”
“I haven’t sold it yet.”
“You’ve a good nerve,” said Hartz.
“That’s what the dentist told me once when he yanked out a back molar.”
“Better sell to-day,” chuckled Hartz.
“I’ll think about it. Kinder ’fraid I might break the market if I let
it all out at once.”
Hartz punched him in the ribs and passed on.
When Jack got back to the office after lunch he meandered over to the
indicator.
Before he reached it, Millie had him by the arm.
Her eyes were blazing with excitement.
“Sell, Jack; sell! D. & G. has just been quoted at ninety-two.”
“Thanks, Millie,” he said with provoking calmness, picking his teeth
with a quill and looking at her quizzically; “but I guess it’s sold by
this time.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, with wondering eyes.
“Well, you see, when I went out to eat I stopped in at the bank and
told them to close the deal the moment the stock touched my figure.
That puts it up to them, in a way, and of course they notified their
broker to that effect. I guess I’m safe enough now.”
“Oh, Jack, I’m so happy!” was all she could say.