Wall Street stories. Edwin Lefevre

night before, and they had, in an idle moment, and not because they really expected it, represented Mr. Colwell as taking that identical stand. Mrs. Hunt was, accordingly, prepared to show both that she knew her moral and technical rights, and that she was ready to resist any attempt to ignore them. So she said, in a voice so ferociously calm that it should have warned any guilty man: “Mr. Colwell, will you answer me one question?”

      “A thousand, Mrs. Hunt, with pleasure.”

      “No; only one. Have you kept the bonds that I bought, or have you not?”

      “What difference does that make, Mrs. Hunt?”

      He evaded the answer!

      “Yes or no, please. Have you, or have you not, those same identical bonds?”

      “Yes; I have. But——”

      “And to whom do those bonds belong, by rights?” She was still pale, but resolute.

      “To me, certainly.”

      “To you, Mr. Colwell?” She smiled. And in her smile were a thousand feelings; but not mirth.

      “Yes, Mrs. Hunt, to me.”

      “And do you propose to keep them?”

      “I certainly do.”

      “Not even if I pay 96½ will you give them to me?”

      “Mrs. Hunt,” Colwell said with warmth “when I took those bonds off your hands at 93 it represented a loss on paper of $3,000——”

      She smiled in pity—pity for his judgment in thinking her so hopelessly stupid.

      “And when you wanted me to sell them back to you at 93 after they had risen to 96½, if I had done as you wished, it would have meant an actual loss of $3,000 to me.”

      Again she smiled—the same smile, only the pity was now mingled with rising indignation.

      “For Harry’s sake I was willing to pocket the first loss, in order that you might not worry. But I didn’t see why I should make you a present of $3,000,” he said, very quietly.

      “I never asked you to do it,” she retorted, hotly.

      “If you had lost any money through my fault, it would have been different. But you had your original capital unimpaired. You had nothing to lose, if you bought back the same bonds at practically the same price. Now you come and ask me to sell you the bonds at 96½ that are selling in the market for 104, as a reward, I suppose, for your refusal to take my advice.”

      “Mr. Colwell, you take advantage of my position to insult me. And Harry trusted you so much! But let me tell you that I am not going to let you do just as you please. No doubt you would like to have me go home and forget how you’ve acted toward me. But I am going to consult a lawyer, and see if I am to be treated this way by a friend of my husband’s. You’ve made a mistake, Mr. Colwell.”

      “Yes, madam, I certainly have. And, in order to avoid making any more, you will oblige me greatly by never again calling at this office. By all means consult a lawyer. Good morning, madam,” said the politest man in Wall Street.

      “We’ll see,” was all she said; and she left the room.

      Colwell paced up and down his office nervously. It was seldom that he allowed himself to lose his temper, and he did not like it. The ticker whirred away excitedly, and in an absent-minded, half-disgusted way he glanced sideways at it.

      “Man. Elec. 5s, 106⅛,” he read on the tape.