"Whose is it? Why don't you tell me about it?" "It's yours, every cent of it, and I've got fifteen more bills of that size in the bank." The good woman dropped down into a chair and glared at her nephew. Fred went to her, put his arms about her neck, kissed her and said: "I've had good luck to-day, aunt. Just read that and you will understand it all," and he gave her a copy of an afternoon paper in which was the story of the capture of the forger in Barron's bank. "And they gave you this money for what you did?" she exclaimed, when she had finished reading it. "Yes. They just chipped in and gave me a pile of money. I left all in the bank but this, which I wanted to give to you. And you can have every cent of the rest whenever you want it--you and sister." "Oh, you dear, good boy!" she exclaimed, her eyes filling with tears as she caught him in her arms. "I knew you would always be good to me." "You've been a mother to us, aunt, and I'll never go back on my mother!" Adah came home from the store tired and hungry. At supper her aunt told her of Fred's adventure and good fortune. She sprang up and danced around the room in her joy and then kissed him a half dozen times. It did seem like an enormous sum to her a girl of but fourteen summers. "What are you going to do with it, Fred?" she finally asked. "Give it to aunt and to use for you and herself." They all had pleasant dreams that night. Fred dreamed of the big fortune made in Wall Street; and Adah dreamed that she was no longer a cash girl in a big store, but wore fine dresses and rode in a carriage. The next morning, however, Fred ate early and hurried off downtown to sell papers, and Adah was at the store at her usual hour. Fred delivered to all his Wall Street patrons and then sold on the street to passersby all the morning. He was all around the Stock Exchange, for there he found the most customers. Inside the Stock Exchange he heard the brokers yelling like so many lunatics. That was so often the case, however, that he gave it little thought. But soon he saw Bob Newcombe, Manson's messenger, come out in a great hurry and dart off down the street. "Guess Manson is busy inside," he said to himself as he kept his eyes open for customers. In a few moments Bob came running back. He ran up against Fred. "Just go up in the gallery and see how B. & H. is climbing up, Fred," he said to him. "How much has it gone up, Bob?" Fred asked him. "Five points, and that means $100 for us," Bob replied. "Whew!" and Fred whistled. Bob dashed into the Exchange by way of the side entrance on New street and disappeared from view. "Guess I'll go up in the gallery and look on a while," Fred said to himself. "Here, Mugsey, you can have my papers," and he turned over about one dozen papers to an ugly little newsboy whom the others called Mugsey. The little fellow was astonished. "Do yer give 'em ter me, Fred?" he asked before taking them. "Yes. I'm done for the day."