“Taking quotations and orders on the long distance. The ’phone was arranged on a standard and I didn’t have to handle it at all. I had a pad of paper at my side. All I had to do was to write out the quotations, or orders. Then I would touch an electric bell and a boy would take them to the manager.” “Sort of stock exchange business; eh?” propounded Jolly. “Yes, that way,” assented Pep. “The first day I got through grandly. Old Tyson told me I had the making of a smart man in me and advised me to cut away from the movies and become a second Vanderbilt. They kept me at the ’phone yesterday, too. It’s too bad they did,” added Pep grievously. “I reckon they think so now.” “Explain, Pep,” urged the curious Randy. “Well, about two o’clock in the afternoon there was a rush of business. Everybody in the office was busy. I heard the manager say that it looked like a regular Black Friday, whatever that was, the way stocks and bonds were being juggled. Right when everything was going at lightning speed and the office was in a turmoil, long distance says: ‘Buy for Vandamann account at twenty’—and then there was a hiss and a jangle—crossed wires—see?” Pep’s engrossed auditors nodded silently, eager to hear the remainder of his story. “Then I got the balance of the order—as I supposed—‘one thousand shares Keystone Central.’ Orders came piling up and I had all I could do to write them down. ‘Buy one thousand Keystone Central at twenty’ went to the manager with the rest. I thought no more of it until this morning. I was at my ’phone thinking of how I’d be home with the rest of you Saturday, when the manager, mad as a hornet, came to me. ‘You see Mr. Tyson just as quick as you can,’ he snapped at me, and I did. Mr. Tyson had just found out that I had mixed orders. I talked about crossed wire, but he wouldn’t hear a word of it. ‘The idea of loading us down with that bustling stock at twenty, when it was offered on the exchange at three cents yesterday!’ he howled. ‘Here get out of here and stay out of here. And here, you’ve cost a pretty penny, and you can take that stock for your pay.’ And with that,” concluded Pep, “he hurled this package at me, and I’m a bloated bondholder.” Pep drew a little package of green and yellow documents from his pocket. He flung them on the table in a disgruntled way. Ben Jolly picked them up and looked them over. “Heard of the Keystone Central,” he observed—“lot of watered stock and new people trying to squeeze out the old shareholders. Maybe a few dollars in these, Pep.” But the disgusted Pep waved documents and remark away with disdain. “Burn ’em up; throw ’em away—don’t care what you do with them,” he declared. “I am sick of the whole business. I want to forget how mean money makes a millionaire, and just get back into the gladness and bustle of the old motion picture proposition.”