NED'S BUSINESS VENTURE
Meanwhile Ned Wilding was speeding on the fast train toward New York.
The first part of the journey was no novelty to him, as he had been over
that part of the line before. Soon, however, he noticed a change in the
scenery and was kept busy watching the landscape as it seemed to fly
past the windows.
"I wonder if I'll have time to attend to that little matter of business
before I go to Uncle Kenfield's house," said Ned to himself as he leaned
back in his seat and pulled a bundle of papers from his pocket. "Let's
see what the address is."
Ned began to turn over the pages of a booklet which he selected from
among his bundle of documents.
"Skem & Skim, 111 Broadway," he read. "I'll just drop down there before
I go to uncle's house and buy my stock. Just think of me being a
stockholder in the Mt. Olive Oil Well Corporation, Limited. Capital ten
million dollars, surplus and undivided profits five millions. It must
be a great concern."
Ned gave himself up to pleasant thoughts and looked out of the window.
Perhaps he saw himself a millionaire riding in his private car. For Ned
was going to do some business on his own account--the first he had ever
done.
When he learned that he was to visit his aunt and uncle in New York he
decided to put into operation a plan he had long had in mind; ever
since, in fact, he got the thousand dollars damages which were paid to
him and his chums by Mr. Ricka, as told in the first volume of this
"Darewell Chums Series."
Mr. Wilding, after much solicitation on Ned's part, had allowed his son
to take one hundred dollars of the money to invest in any way he saw
fit, subject to certain restrictions.
"I'll not let you buy gold bricks with it, of course," Mr. Wilding had
said, "and I advise you not to invest it in alleged counterfeit money or
'green goods.' But anything else in reason you may do. It's your first
real business venture, and it will be good for you to learn by
experience. I had to when I was a boy."
"How about buying oil stock?" Ned had asked. "I have been reading that
up lately."
Mr. Wilding smiled behind the paper he was reading.
"I warned you against gold bricks," he said.
"Oh, but this is a legitimate oil business," Ned replied. "The company
advertises in the best magazines, and is only selling stock low for a
few days. By February first it is going to five dollars a share. It's
only fifty cents now. Why, they have testimonials from prominent men,
and an expert writes that the oil wells of the Mt. Olive concern are the
richest ever seen. They have one well that runs a hundred barrels a day
and they haven't it half bored yet."
"Ned," said Mr. Wilding, and he spoke a little gravely, "I'm not going
to stand in your way. I've allowed you to take that hundred dollars to
invest as you please. Now I'm not going to advise you. If I did I might
as well invest the money myself. I want you to learn to be a business
man and the best way to learn is by experience, though it isn't always
the easiest way. If you want to buy stock in that oil company do so. If
you get 'bitten' you do so with your eyes open."
"Don't you think it's a good investment, father?"
"I'm not going to say. Sometimes those concerns pay well, and again
they do not. It's an operation such as business men enter into every
day, and in this case, as far as you are concerned, it is legitimate,
since you are going to buy the stock outright, and not speculate in it
by buying on a margin. As I said, I will not advise you. Buy that stock
if you want to, and I'll say nothing which ever way the cat jumps. It's
your money and you will have to foot the bill. I wouldn't risk more than
a hundred dollars though."
"That will give me two hundred shares at fifty cents each," Ned replied,
figuring on the back of an envelope. "If it goes to five dollars a share
I'll make nine hundred dollars profit. That would be fine!"
"So you've decided to buy it, eh?"
"I think so. I'll get it when I go to New York to Uncle Kenfield's
house."
"Very well, Ned. You may do so. Only remember one thing, just repeat to
yourself that old proverb about counting your chickens before they're
hatched."
"Oh, well, I may not make nine hundred dollars, but I'm bound to clear
some profit. The stock can't go much below fifty cents a share," Ned
remarked hopefully.
"That's your lookout," his father replied. "Now that you've got it
settled I'll draw a hundred dollars of your thousand and give it to you
before you start for New York."
It was this transaction Ned had in mind as he was on his way to the
great city. He read the account of the oil concern from circulars which
had been mailed to him in Darewell a few weeks ago. There were big
sheets of statistics, prospectuses glittering with gold printing, finely
engraved sample stock certificates and a mass of figures that showed the
impossibility of the Mt. Olive oil wells producing any less than the
highest possible number of barrels per day.
"If this turns out all right I'll get the other boys to invest some of
their money," Ned said to himself.
Ned reached New York safely about noon. He had his dinner in a restaurant
near the station and then, leaving his trunk until he could have it sent
to his uncle's house, and carrying only a small valise, he went to the
office of the oil concern.
He had little difficulty in finding it, once a policeman had directed
him to Broadway. He was hardly prepared for the beautifully furnished
office into which he stepped. There was heavy carpet on the floor, the
chandeliers, glowing with electric lights, seemed of solid gold. There
were brass and mahogany railings, big rosewood desks, telephones on the
desks, stock tickers clicking in one corner, and three girls clicking on
typewriters in another corner. On every side were evidence of a big and
rushing business.
"Well, sir, what can we do for you? Who are you from?" asked a clerk,
from behind a brass grating, as Ned entered.
"I came to buy some stock," the boy replied.
"Who for? Speak quick! This is our busy day!"
"For myself," Ned replied.
"Come, no joking. I haven't any time to waste. Got an order from a
broker? Hand it over with the check."
"I haven't any order and I haven't any check," Ned made reply, somewhat
sharply, for the clerk's manner nettled him. "I came in here to buy some
stock on my own account. I've got the cash here, but if you don't
want--"
"What is it?" asked a large, pompous man, with a florid face and a white
moustache, coming from an inner office.
"This boy says he wants to buy some stock," the clerk replied.
The florid man looked at Ned sharply.
"You mean this gentleman comes in here to invest in the Mt. Olive Oil
Well Corporation," the florid man went on quickly. "Certainly, my dear
sir," and he shot a meaning look at the clerk. "Skem & Skim will be
happy to transact any business you may entrust them with. Step in here,
please," and he held the door open for Ned to enter the inner office.
That was even more richly furnished than the outer one. Ned sat in an
upholstered chair that seemed to smother him, so far down did it let him
sink.
"Now, my dear sir, what can we do for you?" and the man looked at Ned.
"I have a hundred dollars to invest in your oil well."
The man seemed a little disappointed.
"Hum, yes, of course. Well, at the present market rate that will give
you two hundred shares. You are in luck, my dear sir. We are going to
put the price at a dollar a share in the morning. In fact we were going
to advance it this afternoon. I will have your certificate made out at
once." He took the money, which Ned held out, and touched a button on
his desk. A young man entered. "Make out a certificate for two hundred
shares for this gentleman, er--let's see--I'm afraid I didn't catch your
name when you mentioned it."
As Ned had not mentioned it the gentleman's inability to catch it might
easily be forgiven.
Ned supplied the necessary information, and the clerk withdrew. Another
entered a moment later. He seemed much excited:
"Just had a wire from Colonel Janders," he said. "The Black Cat well has
increased fifty barrels a day, Mr. Skem!"
"Good!" exclaimed the florid gentleman. "Tell Mr. Skim at once, and put
the stock up to a dollar a share. You got in just in time," he added,
turning to Ned, and our hero thought so himself.
As the last clerk withdrew another one came in.
"Got an order from Mr. Johnson for five thousand shares," he announced.
"Shall I let him have 'em at fifty?"
"Sorry to disoblige Mr. Johnson, who is a very good friend of mine,"
said Mr. Skem, "but I shall have to charge him a dollar. I guess he'll
pay it. The stock will go to two dollars a share before the end of the
week."
The first clerk came back with a finely engraved certificate, on which
the name "Edward Wilding" was written in a flourishing hand.
"There you are," said Mr. Skem. "I hope you will take some more stock
soon. If you invest before the end of the week I will, as a special
favor to you, make the price seventy-five cents."
Ned had half a mind to invest another hundred dollars, but he thought he
had better write to his father first. Then, with the precious
certificate in his pocket, he started for his uncle's house, planning to
stop on the way and order his trunk sent up.