Still, he kept his eyes and ears wide open, so that in case anything worth while drifted his way it wouldn’t get by him. Any small favor would be thankfully received. He was on speaking terms with a good many brokers, and he knew every prominent one by sight. Next day Jack was coming along New Street about lunch hour, when he ran into Hartz, the Exchange Place broker. Hartz was a little, wiry man, with snappy black eyes, and was about as shrewd as you find them down in the financial district. Ever since the day Jack saved Oliver Bird from taking his own life in the office of the broker, Hartz had taken more or less notice of the boy, which was something unusual for him to do. As we have already seen, he gave Ed Potter a job entirely on Jack’s recommendation. “Hello, young man! Who are you running into?” exclaimed the broker, grabbing the boy with both his arms and holding him tight. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Hartz, but I didn’t see you.” “No; I’m not quite as big as Bird,” grinned Hartz. “How long have you been on the Street now, Hazard?” “Six months, sir.” “Look as if you’d cut your eye teeth by this time. It’s a wonder you don’t get into trouble with that tongue of yours.” “Why so?” asked Jack, in surprise. “Yesterday morning, when you came into my office, young Percy Chamberlain, secretary for the resident manager of the British and North American Fire Insurance Company, was there talking to Miss Kitson, my stenographer. Just as you stepped up to her desk he remarked that he was the last remaining member of his family, whereupon you said you read in the morning paper that the lobster was becoming extinct. And I suppose you wondered why Chamberlain left the office in a huff. You’re a peach!” Jack grinned. “Percy makes me tired,” he said. “He’s always dropping in and bothering our typewriter with his silly remarks, so I make a point of giving a shot where I can.” There was a twinkle in Hartz’s eye. “Ever take a flyer on the market?” he asked, suddenly. “Once.” “When was that?” “Couple of weeks ago.” “How did you come out?” “Ahead.” “Lucky boy.” “I s’pose you haven’t any tips to give away, have you, Mr. Hartz?” grinned Jack. “You owe me one for saving that carpet of yours the day Mr. Bird got reckless.” “Don’t carry such things about with me,” said Hartz, in his sharp, off-hand way. Then, after fixing the boy with his penetrating eyes a moment, he suddenly said: “If you’ve got twenty-five or fifty dollars you haven’t any use for, you might buy a few shares of D. & G. just to keep your thoughts off Percy Chamberlain,” and the broker nodded and walked away. Jack looked after him.