“He’s coming to now,” said Jack, handing the weapon to the broker, who rushed into his private office and hid it. The big man, whose name Jack had found out was Oliver Bird, recovered his senses and looked blankly around as if he didn’t comprehend what had happened to him or where he was. “How do you feel now, sir?” asked Jack, assisting him to rise. “Feel? Why, what’s the matter with me? I didn’t have a fit, did I?” The boy didn’t feel like making an explanation, for he knew the man would realize the situation in a moment. “Let me assist you into the private office, sir,” he suggested, thinking it well that Mr. Bird should be removed from the curious gaze and remarks of the outsiders who blocked up the space outside the railing. Oliver Bird made no objection to this, but as soon as his eyes fell on the face of Mr. Hartz everything came back to him like a flash. He glared at the broker, and for a moment it looked to Jack as if there was going to be trouble. Hartz, however, staved it off by saying, quickly: “Sit down, Mr. Bird, and we’ll talk the matter over again. I’ve decided to let you have twenty-four hours in which to settle up.” As Bird sank into the chair, apparently pacified, Jack retired and shut the door. “You’ve got something going back to Atherton’s, haven’t you?” he said to the dude clerk. “Upon my word, I don’t know what I did with that envelope you brought. This excitement knocked it out of my mind.” “I think it’s sticking out of your pocket,” said Jack, with a grin. “Bless me! So it is. Just wait a moment.” And he rushed over to the head bookkeeper, who, with the cashier, was trying to induce the mob to leave. Jack had to wait several minutes before another envelope was handed to him to take back. While he was waiting for it several of the clerks gathered about him, complimented him on his nerve and presence of mind, and asked him his name. On his way to the elevator he passed an officer and a man in plain clothes, aiming for Hartz’s office. “Gee!” he said to himself, “I guess it’s a mighty lucky thing for Bird I was on hand. He evidently meant to put that bullet into his brains.” CHAPTER VI. WHAT JACK PICKED UP ON WALL STREET. “Hello! What kept you so long?” exclaimed Frank Simpson when Jack entered the outer office on his return from his Exchange Place errand. “There was a little excitement over at Hartz’s office that tangled everybody up. I’ll tell you about it in a moment.” And Jack steered himself into the manager’s office, delivered the envelope, and explained the cause of the delay. “What! Oliver Bird tried to blow his brains out in Hartz’s office, eh? I heard he was one of the shorts that were badly squeezed yesterday in D. P. & Q. stock,” said Mr. Bishop. “How did the affair end?” Jack explained as modestly as possible the hand he had had in the matter.