Evening Star Newspaper, September 14, 1930, Page 91

Fxc tion Books PART 7. Magasine WASHINGTON, D. C, SEPTEMBER 14, 1930. Puzzles 24 PAGES. — Road to Poverty Is Paved With “Tips”' Noted Writer Tells of the “Greatest Peril in the Way of Success. Proof by Experience With “Good Information. s s‘Black Fridays” and Other 1V ild Days) “Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die”—that was the ktoast of “Black Friday.” ONEY and I had no chance to get acquainted with each other in my youth, We were scarcely on speaking terms. Money was the rarest of all commodities in the Jand I came from. The best beefsteak was 12 cents a pound and a good suit of clothes cost @about $15. There was little trading for cash in the stores. When money came into a man’'s ‘hands it vanished the same day., But if a boy ‘got hold of a dollar he kept it in solitary con- finement in his wallet until the circus came, or fair time, or the Fourth of July. It got air only when he showed it to his friends. In the pres- ence of the noisy multitude he had a day of Jjoyous dissipation with no abler help than that afforded by firecrackers, lemonade and peanuts. We had enough to eat and decent clothes, but most of us no money. We were told that we didn’t need it. “Money is all right, but charac- ter and brains are better,” my father said. This gave me a rather hopeless outlook. Intellectual and moral supremacy were the things that we were to strive for. They said that it paid. I proved that it didn’t. One week I studied hard, and cleaned off the sidewalk of & poor widow, and put my last 5 cents on the contribution plate—but nothing came of it. N the matter of cash it was a land of pov- erty—a proud and hidden poverty. My father left me a large amount of it. With real talent for the task I succeeded in increasing my inheritance, I went to New York. Suddenly I awoke one morning and found my poverty gone. Everything swept away in a night. I was rich. I had done a piece of work that brought me $500. It was to me a prodigious sum. I felt sorry for the man who paid it to me. I used a part of it to pay debts. With $425 in my pocket I set out for the bank of A, Barton Hepburn—a distinguished banker from the land of my birth. I was still a country boy who had not yet acquired the metropolitan stride. I did not realize that I had come to the home and head- quarters of Money whence it began its journeys to the remote interior, where it tarried briefly. It was lonesome there and always in a hurry to return. How aptly the words of the old hymn could be applied to the habits and disposition of Money in the days of my youth: “I'm a pilgrim and I'm a stranger. I can tarry, I can tarry but a night.” A magnificent old gentleman from New York had worked with me on the local paper in the village where I spent my school days. I had By Irving Bacheller. Author of “Eben Holden,” “Man for the Ages” and other novels. heard him proudly tell of attending a dinner at Delmonico’s, the price of which was $10 a pate. I wondered how any one could eat so much. It was, perhaps, this kind of reckless talk which gave him a growing reputation in our village. Every one listened to him with a half hidden smile, These data will serve to clarify my psycho- logical situation when riches fell upon me and I went to Mr. Hepburn for advice. “A lot of money has come to me,” I said. “I want to put it where it will be safe. It's quite a sum.” He was interested. He gave me a cigar and a statement of the bank. I studied it a moment. There were more than a hundred millions in deposits. I had little understanding of those prodigious details in the statement. “This dces not mean much to me,” I said. “If you say it’s safe I'll turn over the money.” I took it from my pocket and carefully counted it and laid it on his desk, “There it is,” I said. He was a kindly man of deep understanding, some 13 years older than I. He smiled. I had reminded him of his youth. “Bacheller, you're like a breath of fresh air in the deep woods,” he said. “I'll give you a letter to a bank that will be glad to have your account. They can serve you better than we can.” 'I‘HAT day a new light came to me on the relativity of human knowledge. A warm friendship developed between Mr. Hepburn and me as time went on. Many a day we hunted and fished together. CC7 PV HE cities are full of busy poverty makers. [ guides in the downward way. the investment of the surplus of other people. it is kenown that you have money, they begin work upon you. I had left the city staff of a daily newspaper and gone into business. I had acquired some knowledge of the metropolis. I had a fair working acquaintance with money, although there were always evidences of embarrass- ment and restraint in our relations. We were never quite happy together. I had acquired a small surplus when a friend of mine came along with asbrilliant idea. A great man had given him a tip on Ontario & Western. It was then selling at 18, if I remember rightly. A forward movement of at least 10 points was soon coming in the stock. He explained to me that with $1,000 we could buy a hundred shares on margin and double our money. I did not then know that the cities are full of busy poverty makers. They are able guides in the downward way. They have brilliant plans for the investment of the surplus of other people. As soon as it is known that you have money they begin work upon you. Many of them get a part of the money which they induce you to invest. Some are en- thusiastic friends whose only interest is the promotion of your welfare. Success is for the man who, having laid out his course and tested its correctness, can firmly refuse to wander from it. My friend and I agreed together that we would each put up $500 and buy a hundred shares of Ontario & Western at the market. I went to Mr. Hepburn with the money and laid our plan before him. “Well, I could buy a hundred shares for you and carry the stock as far as your money goes,” he said. “If it breaks below 8 you will have They are able They have brilliant plans for As soon as Suc- cess is for the man who, having laid ont his course and tested its correctness, can firmly refuse to wander from it.” Drawn for The Star’s Sunday Magazine by Stockton Mulford, to put up another $500 or be sold owk I advise you to let it alone.” . He couldn't shoo me away. I clung to my purpose. “All right,” he said. “I'll buy a hundred shares on your account at the market. You'll get some useful knowledge, anyhow. Perhaps your head will have nccommodaflon for more of that.” I gave him my money, signed an order ang went away in a profuse perspiration. I wag excited. My partner had said that the stoelk would go to 40. I began to consider what & would do with my profits. Three times thad day I went to a ticker and watched the tape, The stock was going off, I saw 17 recorded; then 3, 16'; and 16. It closed at 1534, MY enthusiasm began to ebb. Next day all the stocks were tumbling. Ontario & Westerg seemed to be leading the procession. It wad as busy as a boy sliding downhill, It never stopped to rest. It closed at 1314, For the first time I was losing eonfidence in my intellect. I thought of gomg to see my friend the banker. I didn't. I couldn't bean to face him. I decided that I wouldn't put up another dollar, I would just stand still and take the punishment that a fool deserves, My favorite rushed on through the 50 per cent margin slope. It seemed to know just where it was going. It accurately took the measurs of the financial strength and patience of =& thousand little gamblers and stopped to resé at 734. Yes, that was going some; but thini of my own depression. You could have bough§ me for a shilling, THEN it turned around and began to go the other way. Did you ever see & dog shake himself and caper after he has been washed with flea soap? That's the way it acted— happy, frolicsome. I saw the ticker no more, but every day I looked for O. W. in the news« papers. I saw the stock climb steadily to 28, What a lot of cutthroats they were in Wall Street! I didn't wonder that they could live in palaces, I was ripe for socialism and evem anarchy. I hadn't dared to confess my folly to my wife. Next day I was lunching with a friend at the Lawyers’ Club. Near me sat Mr. Hepburn, the banker, The sight of him made me fed sick. He saw me and came to my table. Dew pressed, humble and red with embarrassmessly