Halsey & Co Part 10

"I'll have the lease for you this afternoon," said the old man.

Bob and Fred then went off to engage a sign painter to put up their firm name in big gold letters on the immense plate gla.s.s front of the offices.

The next day they found their name

"HALSEY & COMPANY, "Bankers, "Speculators in Stocks, Bonds, etc."

in big gold letters, the handsomest on the street. Mr. Allison, the man who had kept the books for Risley & Cohn for fifteen years, had been engaged for them by Bowles, who told him they were a couple of boys. He was elderly, bald, with a full, round face known to every broker in Wall Street. His knowledge of Wall Street was thorough.

"It will create a sensation when it is known who Halsey & Company are,"

he remarked to them, as they watched the people admire the sign as they went by.

"Yes, I guess so. We'll have some fun with 'em. But see here, Mr.

Allison, we are no fools if we haven't got any beards. We want you to manage the banking end of this thing, and stand ready to collar us when you see us going wrong. Do you understand?" and Fred faced him as he spoke.

The old man looked over his gla.s.ses at him for a few moments as if surprised at what he had just heard.

"Well, that shows you have good, old-fashioned horse sense, young man,"

he replied. "Most boys of your age think they know it all, and have to pay dearly for lessons they might have had free."

Just then Broker Tracey came by and stopped to look at the new firm name on the gla.s.s front. Fred went to the door and invited him in. Tracey looked at him in astonishment and then at the sign again.

"How do you like our new quarters?" Fred asked him.

"Whose quarters?"

"Halsey & Company--Fred Halsey and Bob Newcombe--we are the firm. Mr.

Allison here is our manager."

Tracey glanced at Allison, whom he had known for years, and the old man said:

"It is true, Sir."

"Got any capital?" Tracey asked.

"Plenty of it," replied Allison.

He turned on Fred and asked:

"What has happened? Where did you get it?"

"What some people lose others gain," Fred replied. "I got a good deal of fleece out of M. & C. the other day. Did you lose any wool?"

Tracey's face was a picture to look at. He was a loser in that deal to the tune of some $20,000, and this sudden and unexpected discovery of where it had gone was a shock to him.

"Well, I'm jiggered!" he exclaimed, looking at Allison. "I've been thirty years in Wall Street and these are the first boy bankers I ever saw."

"They are the first I ever saw, too, sir," said Allison, "and I've been thirty-five years in the Street. They've both got good heads on their shoulders."

"Just come in here and let me show you something. Mr. Tracey," said Bob, leading the way into the private office of the former bankers. "I want to show you some fleece we have on exhibition," and he pointed to a large bunch of white wool hanging to a hook on the wall above his desk, labeled:

"JAMES BRYANT, "M. & C. fleece."

The old broker roared.

"Say, I hope you won't hang mine up that way!" he exclaimed.

"We have too much respect for you to do that sir."

"How about Manson?"

"Oh, we got a good lot off him, but I was once in his employ."

"Well, I'm glad you haven't got mine hung up," and he went out, laughing heartily.

In an hour the whole Street had the news, and scores of brokers came by to look in at the two boys. They were all amused, for they laughed and joked each other about it.

Half an hour later a wave of jolly laughter went through the Street as the fleece story was told. Bryant was guyed till he had to shut himself up in his office and refuse to see any one. Manson came in and whispered to Bob to drop that Bryant's fleece business, adding:

"He has a host of friends in Wall Street, and it will hurt your business to make an enemy of him."

"He is already my enemy," Bob replied, "and had me discharged from your employ. I will never let up on him as long as I live."

Just before business closed Bryant rushed into the office and said:

"I want to see the bunch of wool you have here with my name on it."

"Here it is," said Bob, opening the door of the private office and pointing to the wool hanging against the wall.

Bryant grabbed it and started to the door with it. Bob opened the drawer of the desk, took out a revolver, and aiming at him, said:

"Here's something to go with it."

Bryant wheeled around and found himself looking down the muzzle of the revolver.

CHAPTER VIII.--Broker Bryant and the Boys.

When Broker Bryant saw the muzzle of a revolver staring him in the face he turned white as a sheet.

"Just drop that fleece on the desk there; if you please," said Bob very coolly.

He laid it down without saying a word, never once taking his eyes off the revolver.

"You may go now," Bob said. "You can't get any fleece out of this office."

"Put up that gun. You are making a fool of yourself," said Bryant finally.

"Maybe I am. All the same, I'd have made a corpse of you if you had not dropped that wool."