“He’s looking for a telegram too,” mutters the latter; “wonder if one will come for me from Vanderbilt or George Gould, asking me to take charge.” “Well, gentlemen, I wish you good-day. Market’s on the rise--a little excitement--Consolidated----” Wycherley clutches his arm. “Don’t tell me sir, it’s gone _higher_?” he exclaims, his face elongated, his eyes distended. “Why, yes--two cents above yesterday’s highest quotation.” The actor puts one hand on his heart, and his whole attitude is one of bliss. “Aleck, my _dear_ boy--do you hear that? I had the audacity to back Consolidated again with half my pile. It means another million to me.” “What!” roars the big operator, aghast. Mr. Wycherley recovers himself, while Aleck turns aside so that his smile may not offend the peculiar fellow he calls friend--the warm-hearted oddity who has in times past tried nearly every vocation on the list, only to find himself a round peg in a square hole, and who is still vainly groping for his true business in life. Wycherley does not lose his usual assurance in this moment of trial: “I backed Consolidated yesterday, together with some mining stock, and the rise boomed me to the skies, two million or so ahead. Indications warned me to hang on to Consolidated longer, and I went in heavy; with the result that to-day I am again a million ahead.” He proudly takes out that wonderful notebook and shows the figures that tell the story. Samson Cereal looks at the book and then again at the owner. “Who were these tremendous deals made with, if it is proper for me to ask?” “One Claude Wycherley.” “Don’t know him.” “Myself.” Now a light begins to dawn upon the mind of the old speculator; a grim smile breaks over his face showing that he is amused. “Oh, I see! How long have you been indulging in this romantic pastime, Mr. Wycherley?” “About three weeks.” “Faithfully every day?” “Just as the market held out. I never bought haphazard. My early experience told me that was ruinous policy--that it was like a game of chess--each move was but the single play of a series--each move must have a meaning.” Again that shrewd head of the veteran wags--such talk pleases him. “What success have you had from the start?” “In the beginning, very bad. You can see here I went deep in the mire. Then I began to reason, and had gleams of success. The second week was a see-saw, with Claude Wycherley a million or two in the soup. This last week everything I touched turned to gold, and I’m three times a millionaire--on paper.” “Young men, good-day. You may come around to my office to-morrow, if at liberty. I have a place for you to fill. We’ll harness this genius of yours to common-sense dollars.” Then he leaves the hotel.