The young man from the rear of the room took the two rows of chairs at a jump. "Fiedler," he said, "I'm going to cover right away. Buy me a thousand Interstate at the market." Sol nudged Abe, and after the young man and Fiedler had disappeared into the latter's private office Sol imparted in hoarse whispers to Abe that the young man was reported to have information from the ground-floor crowd about Interstate Copper. "Well, if that's so," Abe replied, "why does he lose money on it?" "Because," Sol explained, "he's got an idee that if you act just contrariwise to the inside information what you get it, why then you come out right." Abe shook his head hopelessly. "Pinochle, I understand it," he said, "and skat a little also. But this here stocks from stock exchanges is worser than chest what they play it in coffee-houses." "You don't need to understand it, Abe," Sol replied. "All you do is to buy a thousand Interstate Copper to-day or to-morrow at any price up to two and a half, Abe, and I give you a guarantee that you make twenty-five hundred dollars by next week." When Abe returned to his place of business that day he had developed a typical case of stock-gambling fever, with which he proceeded to inoculate Morris as soon as the latter came back from lunch. Abe at once recounted all his experiences of the morning and dwelt particularly on the phenomenal rise of Interstate Copper. "Sol says he guarantees that we double our money in a week," he concluded. "Did he say he would put it in writing?" Morris asked. Abe glared at Morris for an instant. "Do you think I am making jokes?" he rejoined. "He don't got to put it in writing, Mawruss. It's as plain as the nose on your face. We pay twenty-five hundred dollars for a thousand shares at two and a half to-day, and next week it goes up to five and we sell it and make it twenty-five hundred dollars. Ain't it?" "Who do we sell it to?" Morris asked. Abe pondered for a moment, then his face brightened up. "Why, to the stock exchange, certainly," he replied. "_Must_ they buy it from us, Abe?" Morris inquired. "Sure they must, Mawruss," Abe said. "Ain't Sol Klinger always selling his stocks to them people?" "Well, Sol Klinger got his customers, Abe, and we got ours," Morris replied doubtfully. "Maybe them people would buy it from Sol and wouldn't buy it from us." For the rest of the afternoon Morris plied Abe with questions about the technicalities of the stock market until Abe took refuge in flight and went home at half-past five. The next morning Morris resumed his quiz until Abe's replies grew personal in character. "What's the use of trying to explain something to nobody what don't understand nothing?" he exclaimed. "Maybe I don't understand it," Morris admitted, "but also you don't understand it, too, maybe. Ain't it?"