"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.