“An accident is not a fair test of anything, because there is no such thing in the stock-market as an accident! The sooner you let that fact seep in the better it will be for the bank account of your children. I must be going up-town now. Good night, gentlemen.” As early as practicable the next day, after the interest had been figured out to the ultimate penny, Mr. James Burnett Robison was informed by Mr. George B. Richards that he had to his credit the sum of $268,537.71 with the firm. “I've won my bet!” murmured Mr. Robison, staring absently at the broker. “You have indeed, Mr. Robison.” Richards spoke deferentially. “H'm! I hope I can induce Ethel to--Mr. Richards, I'll thank you to sign this paper. There is a notary public up-stairs.” This was the document: _To WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:_ _This is to certify that on July 18, 1912, Mr. James B. Robison opened an account with the firm of Richards & Tuttle, bankers and brokers, members of the New York Stock Exchange, by depositing with them the sum of $100,000. On July 23d he closed this account, which showed a net profit of $168,537.71._ _A copy of the itemized statement, showing purchases and sales of stocks and prices paid and received, will be given to any one upon an order from Mr. James B. Robison._ _For Richards & Tuttle:_ _George B. Richards._ When Mr. George B. Richards had signed this certificate Mr. Robison said, amiably: “If you wish I'll give you, in return, a letter testifying to the pleasure it has given me to trade in an office where they let customers more than double their money in one week.” “Thank you. I hope you are not going to withdraw your account.” “And I hope you will send and get me a hundred thousand dollars in new, clean hundred-dollar bills to give to the beneficiary of my wager. I told you it was easy to make money in Wall Street. You wouldn't have given me a certificate of sanity a week ago. What?” “Oh yes, I would. But if you don't think my curiosity impertinent--” “All curiosity in a stock-broker is a sign of intelligence; and intelligence, my dear Mr. George B. Richards, is never impertinent.” Mr. Robison smiled with such amiable sincerity that Richards felt flattered enough to blush. “Thank you. But there is one thing I don't understand--” The broker paused; he was about to inquire into the personal affairs of a profitable customer. He did not wish commissions to stop. Mr. Robison bowed his head acquiescingly and, as though it were his turn to speak, said: