Helping Himself; Or, Grant Thornton's Ambition by Jr. Horatio Alger (no david read aloud .txt) 📕

“Do they pay high wages?”

“Not extra, but a feller can get points, and make something out of the market.”

“What's that?” asked Grant, puzzled.

“Oh, I forgot. You ain't used to the city,” responded Tom, emphatically. “I mean, you find out when a stock is going up, and you buy for a rise.”

“But doesn't that take considerable money?” asked Grant, wondering how Tom could raise money to buy stocks.

“Oh, you can go to the bucket shops,” answered Tom.

“But what have bucket shops to do with stocks?” asked Grant, more than ever puzzled.

Tom burst into a loud laugh.

“Ain't you jolly green, though?” he ejaculated.

Grant was rather nettled at this.

“I don't see how I could be expected to understand such talk,” he said, with some asperity.

“That's where it is—you can't,” said Tom. “It's all like A, B, C to me, and I forgot that you didn't know anything about Wall Street. A bucket shop is where you can buy stock in small lots, putting down a dollar a share as margin. If stocks go up, you sell out on the rise, and get back your dollar minus commission.”

“Suppose they go down?”

“Then you lose what you put up.”

“Isn't it rather risky?”

“Of course there's some risk, but if you have a good point there isn't much.”

This was Tom Calder's view of the matter. As a matter of fact, the great majority of those who visit the bucket shops lose all they put in, and are likely sooner or later to get into difficulty; so that many employers will at once discharge a clerk or boy known to speculate in this way.

“If I had any money I'd buy some stock to-day; that is, as soon as I get to the city,” continued Tom. “You couldn't lend me five dollars, could you?”

“No, I couldn't,” answered Grant, shortly.

“I'd give you half the profits.”

“I haven't got the money,” Grant explained.

“That's a pity. The fact is, I'm rather short. However, I know plenty of fellows in the city, and I guess I can raise a tenner or so.”

“Then your credit must be better in New York than in Colebrook,” thought Grant, but he fore-bore to say so.

Grant was rather glad the little package of pearls was in the pocket furthest away from Tom, for his opinion of his companion's honesty was not the highest.

When half an hour had passed, Tom vacated his seat.

“I'm going into the smoking car,” he said, “to have a smoke. Won't you come with me?”

“No, thank you. I don't smoke.”

“Then it's time you began. I've got a cigarette for you, if you'll try it.”

“Much obliged, but I am better off without it.”

“You'll soon get over that little-boy feeling. Why, boys in the city of half your age smoke.”

“I am sorry to hear it.”

“Well, ta-ta! I'll be back soon.”

Grant was not sorry to have Tom leave him. He didn't enjoy his company, and besides he foresaw that it would be rather embarrassing if Tom should take a fancy to remain with him in the city. He didn't care to have anyone, certainly not Tom, learn on what errand he had come to the city.

Two minutes had scarcely elapsed after Tom vacated his seat, when a pleasant-looking gentleman of middle age, who had been sitting just behind them, rose and took the seat beside Grant.

“I will sit with you if you don't object,” said he.

“I should be glad of your company,” said Grant, politely.

“You live in the country, I infer?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I overheard your conversation with the young man who has just left you. I suspect you are not very much alike.”

“I hope not, sir. Perhaps Tom would say the same, for he thinks me green.”

“There is such a thing as knowing too much—that isn't desirable to know. So you don't smoke?”

“No, sir.”

“I wish more boys of your age could say as much. Do I understand that you are going to the city in search of employment?”

“That is not my chief errand,” answered Grant, with some hesitation. “Still, if I could hear of a good chance, I might induce my parents to let me accept it.”

“Where do you live, my young friend?”

“In Colebrook. My father is the minister there.”

“That ought to be a recommendation, for it is to be supposed you have been carefully trained. Some of our most successful business men have been ministers' sons.”

“Are you in business in New York, sir?” asked Grant, thinking he had a right by this time to ask a question.

“Yes; here is my card.”

Taking the card, Grant learned that his companion was Mr. Henry Reynolds and was a broker, with an office in New Street.

“I see you are a broker, sir,” said Grant. “Tom Calder wants to get a place in a broker's office.”

“I should prefer that he would try some other broker,” said Mr. Reynolds, smiling. “I don't want a boy who deals with the bucket shops.”

At this point Tom re-entered the car, having finished his cigarette. Observing that his place had been taken, he sat down at a little distance.

“When you get ready to take a place,” said the broker, “call at my office, and though I won't promise to give you a place, I shall feel well disposed to if I can make room for you.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Grant, gratefully. “I hope if I ever do enter your employment, I shall merit your confidence.”

“I have good hopes of it. By the way, you may as well give me your name.”

“I am Grant Thornton, of Colebrook,” said our hero.

Mr. Reynolds entered the name in a little pocket diary, and left the seat, which Tom Calder immediately took.

“Who's that old