"It was that Dresser man. I wish we'd never laid eyes on him--he kept getting tips from Carson, the man who owned most of his paper. I guess Carson didn't take much interest in giving _him_ the right tip, or perhaps Dresser didn't give _us_ what he knew straight out. Anyway, Jack's been losing!" "So you aren't married?" Sommers asked. "Jack's pride is up. You see he wanted to begin with a nice flat, not live on here in this boarding-house. And I was to leave the school. But I guess there isn't much chance _now_. You've been away a long time--to the war?" They were sitting on the steps of the Keystone, which at this hour in the morning they had to themselves. Miss M'Gann's glory of dress had faded, together with the volubility of her talk, and the schoolroom air had blanched her high color. "Jack wanted to go off to Cuba," she continued. "But he got sick again, worrying over stocks, and I guess it was just as well. If he don't keep straight now, and brace up, I'll let him go. I'm not the one to hang around all my life for a silly." "Perhaps that's what made him try the market again," Sommers suggested. "No, it was Dresser. He was sporting a lot of money and going with high-toned folks, and it made Jack envious." "You had better marry him, hadn't you?" Miss M'Gann moved uneasily on the stone seat. "He's down there again to-day, I just know. He's given up the Baking Powder place,--they crowded him out in the reorganization,--and Dresser got him a place down town." "Do you mean he's at the broker's?" Miss M'Gann nodded and then added: "Do you remember Dr. Leonard? Well, he made a pile out of a trust, some dentist-tools combine, I think." "I am glad of it," Sommers said heartily, "and I hope he'll keep it." "Are you going to stay in Chicago?" Miss M'Gann asked, with renewed curiosity. "We shall be glad to see you at the Keystone." Sommers got up to leave, and asked for Webber's address in the city. "I may look him up," he explained. "I wish you could keep him away from Dresser. The converted socialist is likely to be a bad lot." "Socialist!" Miss M'Gann exclaimed disdainfully. "He isn't any socialist. He's after a rich girl." * * * * * Sommers left Miss M'Gann with a half-defined purpose of finding Webber and inducing him to give up the vain hope of rivalling the editor of _The Investor's Monthly_. He had always liked the clerk, and when he had helped to pull him out of the market without loss before, he had thought all would go well. But the optimism of the hour had proved too much for Webber's will. Carson's cheap and plentiful stocks had made it dangerously easy for every office boy to "invest." If Webber had been making money these last months, it would be useless to advise him; but if the erratic market had gone against him, he might be saved.