"Yes," said the other, "just so; and they mean business, too, I can tell you. You'll see this stock up in the 200's to-morrow. Who do you suppose are those fools that are fighting them?" "I don't suppose," said Robbie, "I know." "And who are they?" "There aren't any 'they.'" "How do you mean?" "I mean there's only one man." "What! And who is it?" "It's Robert van Rensselaer." And the old gentleman leapt from his chair, in spite of his gout. "Good God, Robbie!" he cried. "You're mad!" "No," said Robbie; "it's a fact." "But you're ruined!" "Oh, no, not quite, Governor. (Robbie always had called him Governor.) I've spent every cent I own, but not quite ruined; for I'm going to be the richest man in New York City to-morrow at about two minutes past eleven o'clock in the morning. I'm going to have every cent that the T. & S. people and Smith and Shark can beg or borrow, and the bank accounts of several hundred lambs besides, including my aged and beloved daddy!" The aged and beloved daddy was gasping for breath. "You're lost, Robbie!" he cried. "It can't be! How can you do it without money?" "I've just arranged a syndicate," laughed Robbie. "But without money?" "They don't know I've no money," said he, cheerfully. "But I'm going to get some more, just for safety, from you." "Humph!" said Mr. Chauncey van Rensselaer, laconically. "In the first place," said the other man, "you're going to sell those shares to-morrow morning at ten o'clock; and in the second you're going to sell short on T. & S. all you find takers for; and about eleven o'clock you're going to see the sky fall down and hit the earth." "What's going to cause it?" "For one thing, your being there selling short. You old Wall Street rounders are like vultures about a carcass--people will only have to see you hobbling down town, and they'll know there's a smash-up coming; and if you whisper you're selling T. & S. it'll come right then." "There's something in that," admitted the old gentleman, after some hesitation. "But that's not the thing I want to see you about," laughed Robbie. "The main thing is still to come. It is that you're going to make me a present right away of a couple of million dollars." Mr. Chauncey van Rensselaer bounced slightly in his chair, and his eyes were very wide open. "Two millions, at least," reiterated Robbie, seeing that he was speechless. "And _give_ it, not lend it. If I asked you to lend it, then I'd have to go into all kinds of explanations, and I couldn't ever make you see the thing as plainly as I do. All I say is that I've been a good boy and supported myself for thirteen years without ever striking my old daddy for a cent; and that now I want it and want it bad. You're going to die some day, and then you'll leave it all to me. And by that time it'll be of no use in the world to me; for if this stroke fails, it'll be too little, and if it succeeds, it won't be anything at all. And so I want you to give it to me now."