The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, August 9, 1903, Page 4

‘_, N Burman. But that rise can't hold off much longer, and the only thing I'll do from now on is to hock a few blocks of the stock I bought outright, and buy on margins, so's to get bigger action.” “My! My! you jest do fairly dazzle me, exclaimed the old man delightedly. *“Oh, 1 guess your pa wouldn't be at all proud if he could see it. I tell you, this *s all right while you keep hearty.” ll, I'm not pushing my chest out modesty, “but I don’t mind telling you it will be the biggest thing ever pulled off down there by any one man.” “That's the true Westcrn spirit,” de- clared Uncle Peter, beside humself with *““We do things big when we ther with 'em at all. We ain't afrald of any pikers like SBhepler, with his little 2000 and 5000 lots. Oh! I can jest hear 'em callin’ you hard names down in that Wall street—Napoleon of Finance and Copper King and all like that—in about thirty days!” He accepted Percival's Invitation that afternoon to go down Into the street with him. They stopped for a moment in the visitors' gallery of the Stock Exchange and looked down into the mob of writh- ing, disheveled, shouting brokers. In and . the throng swirled upon itself, while ebove its muddy depths surged a froth of hands In frenzied gesticulation. The frantic movement and din of shrieks dis- turbed Uncle Peter. ¥ “Faro is such a lot quieter game,” was his comment; “so much more ca'm and restful. What a pity, now, ‘tain’t as Christian! Then they made the rounds of the brok- ers’ offices in New, Broad and Wall streets They reached the office of Fouts, in the latter street, just as the exchange had closed. In the outer trading-room groups of men wer! about the tickets, rather excitedly discussing the last quotations. Percival made his way toward one of them with a dim notion that he might be concerned. He was relieved when he saw Gordon Blythe, suave and smiling, in the midst of the group, still regarding the tape he held in his hands. Blythe, too, hed plunged in copper. He had been one of the few as sangulne as Percival—and Blythe's manner now reassured him. Copper had obviously not gone wrong. 'Ah, Biythe, how did we close? he, my grandfater, Mr. Bines.” 3lythe was the model of easy, indolent, heppy middle-age. His tall hat, frock a carns in the lapel, the precise crease of his trousers, the spick- ness of his patent leathers and his grace- confidence of manner, proclaimed his d to be free from things of life Mr. know, It could fal of those wretched little nors that the Consolidated has the stuff in London ver quite verns these ab- sales of One can be val was staring at Blyth caled amazement. He turned » Peter still chatting with him, and he inner office. When he inutes later Uncle Peter m alone. 3 Mr. Blythe is & clever sort f and light-hearted as a boy.” Let's go out and have a drink before go uptown.” the cafe of the Savarian, to which d Uncle Peter, they saw Blythe He was seated at one of the ta- with & younger man. Uncle Peter Percival sat down at a table near by. Blythe was having trouble about his ne out ten waiting £ »w, George,” he was saying, “give us lively pint of wine. You see, your- that cork isn't fresh; show it to nk there, and look at the wine itself— w, George, hardly a bubble in it! e it to him, by Gad! 1 s bottle is right.” The walter left with the rejected wine 4 they heard Elvthe resume to his com- panion, with the relish of a connofsseur: It's a simple matter of genlus, old chap—you understand?—to tell good wine at is rea to discriminate finely. If a chap's not born with the gift he's an ass to think he can acquire it. Sometime you've a setter pup that looks fit—head good, nose all right—all the ma but you try him out and you know in haif an hour he'll never do in the world. Then it's better to take him out back of the barn and shoot him, by Gad, rather than have his strain corrupt the rest of the kennel. He can’t acquire the gift, and no more can & chap acquire this gift. Ah! I was right, was I, George? Look how different that cork is.” He sipped the bubbling amber wine with cautious and exacting appreciation. As the waiter would have refilled the glasses, Blythe stopped bhim “Now, George, let me tell you some- thing. You're serving at this moment the only gentleman's drink. Do it right, George. Listen! Never refill a gentle- man's glass untll it's quite empty. Do you know why? Think, George! You pour fresh wine into stale wine and what have you?—neither. I've taught you something, George. Never fill a glass till 1t's empty.” “It beats me,” sald Uncle Peter, when Biythe and his compenion had gone, “how easy them rich codgers get aiong. That fellow must ‘a’ made a study of wines, and nothing worse ever bothers him than & waiter fillin’ his glass wrong.” “You'll be beat more,” answered Per- cival, “when I tell you this slump in cop- per has just ruined him—wiped out every cent he had. He'd just taken it off the ticker when we found him in Fouts’ place there. He's lost a million and a half, every cent he had in the world, and he has a wife and two grown daughters.” “Shoo! you don't say! And I'd have sworn he didn't care a row of pins whether copper went up or down. He wes & lot more worried about that cham- pagne. Well, well! he certainly 1= a game loser. I got more respect fur him now. This town does produce thoroughbreds, you can't deny that.” “Uncle Peter, she's down to 93, and I've had to margin up a good bit. I didn't think it could get below % at the worst.” “Oh, I can't bother about them things. Just think of when she booms.” “I do—but say—do you think we bet- ter pinch our bets?" Uncle Peter finished his glass of beer. “Lord! don’t ask me,” he replied, with the umconcern of perfect trust. “Of course, if you've lost your nerve, or if you think all these things you been tell- in’ meWwas jest some one foolin' you—"" “No, I know better than that, and I haven’t lost my nerve. After all, it only means that the crowd is looking for a bigger rake-off.” “You pa always kept his nerve,” said Uncle Peter. “I've known him to make big money by keepin' it when other men lost theirs. Of course, he had genius fur it, and you're purty young yet—"" “I only thought of it for a minute. I @idn’t really mean it.” They read the next afternoon that Gor- don Blythe had been found dead of asphyxiation in a little downtown hotel under circumstances that left no doubt of man gams thought,” said Uncle Peter. ‘“He's left his family to starve. Now your pa was a game loser fur fair. Dan’l J. would 'a’ called fur another deck.” “And copper's up two points to-day,” said Percival, cheerfully. He had begun to be depressed with forebodings of disas- ter, and this slight recovery was cheer- ing. “By the way,” he continued, ‘“there may be another gas-jet blown out in a few days. That party, you know, our friend from Montana, has been selling Consolidated right and left. Where do you suppose she got any such tip as that? ‘Well, I'm buying and she's selling, and we'll have that money back. She’ll be wiped off the board when Consolidated soars.” CHAPTER XXXIV, HOW THE CHINOOK CAME TO WALL STREET. The loss of much money is commonly a subject to be managed with brevity and aversion by one who sits down with the right reverence for sheets of clean paper. To bewail is painful. To affect lightness, on the other hand, would, In this age, sa- vor of insincerity, if not of downright More than a bare recital of wretched facts, therefore, is not seemly. The Bines fortune disappeared much as a heavy fall of snow melts under the Chi- nook wind. That phenomenon is ot uninteresting. We may picture a far-reaching waste of enow, wind-furrowed until it resembles a blllowy white sea frozen motionless. The wind blows half a gale and the air is full of fine ice-crystals that sting the face viciously. The sun, lying low on the southern horizon, seems a mere frozen globe, with lustrous pink crescents en- circling it. One day the wind backs and shifts. A change portends. Even the herds of half- frozen range cattle sense it by some sub- tle beast-knowledge. They are no longer afraid to lie down as they may have been for 2 week. The danger of freezing has passed. The temperature has been at 30 THE SUNDAY CALL. concern. As to the copper situation, the comment was pat. It had been suddenly disclosed, not only that no combination could be made to include the European mines, but that the Consolidated Com- pany had an unsold surplus of 150,000,000 pounds of copper; that it was producing 20,000,000 pounds a month more than could be sold, and that it had made large secret sales abroad at from two to three cents below the market price. As if fearing that these adverse condi- tions did not sufficiently insure the stock’s downfall, the Shepler group of Federal Ofl operators beat it down further with what was veritably a golden sledge. That is, they exported gold at a loss. At a time when obligations could have been met more cheaply with bought bills they sent out many golden cargoes at an actual loss of $300 on the half million. As money was already dear, and thus be- came dearer, the temptation and the means to hold copper stock, In epite of all discouragements, were removed from the path of hundreds of the harried holders. Incidentally, Western Trolley had gone into the hands of a receiver, a fallure in- volving another hundred million dollars, and Union Cordage had fallen thirty-five points through sensatfonal disclosures as to its overcapitalization. Into this maelstrom of a panic market the Bines fortune had been sucked with a swiftness so terrible that the family's chief advising member was left dazed and incredulous. For two days he clung to the ticker tape as to a life line. He had committed the millions of the family as lightly as ever he had staked a hundred, dollars on the turn of a card or left ten on the change tray for his waiter. Then he had seen his cunningly built foundations, rested upon with hopes so high for three months, meit away like snow when the blistering Chinook comes. It bas been thought wise to adopt two somewhat differing similes in the forego- ing, in order that the direness of the tragedy may be sufficiently apprehended. Percival watched the decline with a conviction that he was dreaming. He laughed to think of his rellef when he should awaken. The crowd surged about the ticker and their volces came as from softened his square jaw-for a moment. He resumed his comfortable chair and took up a newspaper, glancing incident- ally at the crowd of excited men about the tickers. He had about nim that air of repose which comes to big men who have stayed much in big out-of-door soli- tudes. “Ain’t he 2 nervy old guy?”’ sald a crisp little money broker to Fouts. “They're wiped out, but you wouldn't think he cared any more about it than Mike the porter with his brass polish out there.” The old man held his paper up, but aid not read. Percival rushed in by him, beckoning him to the other room. “‘Shepler’s all right about the One Girl. He'll take a mortgage on it for two hun- dred thousand if you'll recommend Iit— only he can’t get the money before to- morrow. There’s bound to be a rally in this stock, and we'll go right back for some of the hair of the—why—what’s the matter—Uncle Peter!"” The old man had reeled, and then weak- ly caught at the top of the desk with both hands for support. “Ruined!” he cried, hoarsely, as if the extent of the calamity had just borne in upon him. “My God! Ruined, and at my time of life!” He seemed about to col- lapse. Percival quickly helped him into a chalr, where he became limp. “There, I'm all right. Oh, it's terrible! and we all trusted you so. I thought you had your pa's brains. I'd 'a’ trusted you soon’s I would BShepler, and now look what You led us into—fortune gone— broke—and all your fault!" “Don’t, Uncle Peter—don't, for God's sake—not when I'm down! I can’t stand 1ty “Gamble away your own money—no, that wa'n’t enough—take your poor ma's share and your sister's, and take what little I'had to keep me in my cld age— robbed us all—that's what comes of thinkin' a damned tea-drinkin' fop could have a thimbleful of brains!" “Don’t, please—not just now—give it to me good later—to-morrow—all you want to!” “And here I'm come to want in my last days when I'm too feebls to work. I'll You—you—you'd make a purty man- ager of anything, wouldn’t you! As if you could be trusted with anything again that needs a schoolboy’s inte..gence. Even if you had the bralns, you ain’t got the taste nor the sperrit in you. You're too lazy—too triflin’. You, a-goin® back there, developin’ mines and gettin® out ties, and lumber. and breeding short- rorns, and improving some of the finest land God ever made—you bein’' sober and industrious, and smart, ...e a business man has got to be out there nowadays. That ain't any bonanza country any more; 1901 ain’t like 1870; don’t figure on that. You got to work the low grade ore now for a few dollars a ton, and you got to work it with brains. No, sir, that country ain't what it used to be. There might 'a’ been a time when you'd made;your board and clothes out there when things come easier. Now it's full of men that hustle and keep their mind on their work, and ain't runnin’ off to pink teas in New York. It takes a man with some of the brains your pa had to make the game pay now. But you—don't let me hear any more of that nonsense!" Percival had entered the room pale. He was now red. The old man’'s bitter con- tempt had flushed him into momentary forgetfulness of the disaster. “Look here, Uncle Peter, you've been telling me right along I did have my father's head and my father's ways and his nerve, and God knows what I didn't have that he had!" “I was fooled—I can’t deny it. What's the use of tryin’ to crawl out of {t? You did fool me, and I own up to it; I thought you had some sense, some capacity; but you was only like him on the surface; you jest got one or two little ways like his, that's all-Dan’l J. now was goe stuff all the way through. He might 'a’ guessed wrong on copper, but he'd 'a’ saved a get-away stake or borrowed one, and he'd a piked back fur Montana to make his pile right over—and he'd 'a’ made {t, too—that was the kind of man your pa was—he'd 'a’ made 1t!" “I have saved a get-away stak “Your pa had the head, I tell you—and the spirit—" “And, by God, I'l show you I've got Remember That Sayin’ of Your Pa’s, “It Takes All Hinds of Fools to Make a World” degrees below zero. Now, suddenly it be- gins to rise. The alr is scarcely in mo- tion, but occasionally it descends as out of a blast furnace from overhead. To the southeast s a mass of dull black clouds. Their face is unbroken. But the upper edges are ragged, torn by a wind not yet felt below. Two hours later its warmth comes. In ten minutes the mer- cury goes up 35 degrees. The wind comes at a thirty-mile velocity. It increases in strength and warmth, blowing with a mighty roar. Twelve hours afterward the snow, three feet deep on a level, has melted. There are bald, brown hills everywhere to the horizon, and the plains are flooded with water. The Chinook has come and gone. In this manner suddenly went the Bines fortune. April 30, Consolidated Copper closed at 81. Two days later, May 2, the same {ll- fated stock closed at 5l—a drop of 40 points. Roughly the decline meant the loss of a hundred milljon dollars to the fifteen thousahd shareholders. From ev- ery eity of importance in the country came tales more or less tragic of holdings wiped out, of ruined families, of defalca- tions and suicides. The losses in New York city alone were sald to be fifty mil- lions. A few large holders, reputed to enjoy inside information, were sald to have put their stock aside and “sold short” in the knowledge of what was coming. Such tales are always popular in the street. Others not less popular had to do with the reasons for the slump. Many were plausible. A deal with the Rothschilds for control of the Spanish mines had fal, len through. Or, again, the slaughter was due to the Shepler group of Federal Ol specuators, who were bent on forcing some one to unioad a great quantity of the stock so that they might absorb {t. The immediate causes were less recon- dite. The Consolidated Company, so far from controlling the output, wae sudden- ly shown to control actually less than 50 per cent of it. Its efforts to amend or repeal the hardy old law of Supply and Demand had simply met with the indif- ferent success that has marked all such efforts since the first attempted corner in stone hatchets, or mastodon tusks, or’ whatever it may have been. In the lan- guage of one of its newspaper critics, the “Trust” had been “founded on miscon- ception and prompted along lines of self- destruction. Its fundamental principles were the restriction of product, the in- €rease of price and the throttling of com- petition, a trinity that would wreck any combination, business, political, or so- clal.” With this generalization we have no afar. Their acts all had the welrd in- consequence of the people we see in dreams. Yet ' presently it had gone too far to be amusing. He must arouse him- self and turn over on his side. In five minutes, according to his dream, he had lost $5,000,000 as nearly as he could calcu- late. Losing a million a minute, even in sleep, he thought was disquieting. Then upon the tape he read another chapter of disaster. Western Trolley had gone Into the hands of a recelver—a fine, fat, promising stock ruined without a word of warning; and while he tried to master this news the horrible clicking thing declared that Unlon Cordage was selling down to §8—a drop of exactly 35 points since morning. Fouts, with a slip of paper In his hand, beckoned from the door of his private of- fice. He went dazedly in to him—and was awakened from the dream that he had been losing a fortune in his sleep. Qoming out after a few moments, he went up to Uncle Peter, who had been sitting, watchful but unconcerned, in one of the armchalrs along the wall. The old man looked up inquiringly. “Come inside, Uncle Peter!” They went into the private office of Fouts. Percival shut the door and they ‘were alone. ‘“‘Uncle Peter, Burman's been suspended on the Board of Trade; Fouts just had this over hls private wire. Corn broke to-day.” “That so? Oh, well, maybe it was ‘worth a couple of million to find out Bur- man plays corn Itke he plays poker; "twas if you couldn’t get it fur any les “Uncle Peter, we're wiped out.” * ““How wiped out? What do you mean, We're done, I tell you. We needn't care a damn now where copper goes to. We're out of it—and—Uncle Peter, we're broke.” : “Out of copper? Broke? But you said —" He geemed to be making an effort to comprehend. His lack of grasp was pitiful. “Out of copper, but there's W Trolley and that cordage -tock—"“um “Everything wiped out, I tell you— Unfon Cordage gone down thirty-five points, somebody let out the inside se- crets—and God only knows how far West- ern Trolley’s gone down.” “Are you ll!l in?" ‘Every dollar—you knew that. But he brightened out of his despair, s‘; -rr'n g: Onohmd—o £00d producer— epler 'ws the pi —Sheple this block—" and hemwna. by The old man strolled out into the trad- ing-room again. A curious grim smile die in bitter privation because I was an old fool, and trusted a young one.” “Please don't, Uncle Peter!" “You led us in—robbed your poor ma and your sister. I told you I didf't know anything about it and you talked me into trusting you—I might 'a’ known better.” “Can’t you stop a while—just a mo- ment?” “Of course I don't matter. Maybe I can hold a drill, or tram ore, or some- thing, but I can’'t support your ma and Pishy like they ought to be, with my rheumatiz comin’ on again, too, And your ma'il have to take in boarders, and do washin’ like as not, and think of poor Pishy—prob'ly she'll have to teach school or clerk in a store—poor Pish— she'll be lucky now {f she can marry some com- mon scrub American out in them hills— like as mot one of them shoe clerks in the Boston Cash Store at Montana City! And jest when I was lookin' forward to luxury and palaces in England, and ev- erything so grand! How much you lost?"* “That’s right; no use whining. Nearly as T can get the round figures of it, about twelve million."” “Awful-awful! By Cripes! that man Blythe that done himself up the other night had the right of it. What's the use of 1iving 1f you got to go to the poor- house?"” “Come, comte!” said Percival, alarm over Uncle Peter crowding out his other emotions. “Be a game loser, just as you sald pa woyld be. Bit up straight and make 'em bring on another deck.” He slapped the old man on the back with simulated cheerfulness; but the de- spairing one only cowered weakly under the blow. “We can’t—we ain't got the stake for a new ceck. Oh, dear! think of your ma and me not knowin' where to turn fur a meal of victuals at our time of life.” Percival was being forced to cheerful- ness in spite of himself. “‘Come, it isn't as bad as that, Uncle Peter. We've got properties left, and good ones too.” Uncle Peter weakly waved the hand of finished discouragement. ‘Hush! . Don't speak of that. Them properties need a manager to make ‘em pay—a plain busi- ness man—a man to stay on the ground and watch 'em and develop ‘em with his brains—a young man with his health! ‘What good am I—a poor, broken down old cuss, bent double with rheumatiz—al- most. I'm ashamed of you fur suggest- ing such a thing!” “I'll do it myself—I never thought of asking you.” Uncle Peter emitted a nasal gasp of disgust. the head. You think because I wantéd to live here, and because I made this wrong play that I'm like all these pinheads you've seen around he I'll show you different!—I'll fool you.” ‘“Now don’t explod said the old man, wearily. “You meant well, poor fellow— T'll say that fur you; you got a good heart. But there’s lots of good men that ain't good fur anything in particular. You've got a good heart—yes—you're all right from the neck down.” “‘See here,” sald Percival, more calmly, “listen; I've got you all into this thing, and played you broke against copper; and I'm going to get you out—understand that?" The old man looked at him pityingly. “I tell you I'm going to get you out. I'm going back there and get things in action, and I'm going to stay by them. I've got a good idea of these properties— and you hear me, now—I'll finish with a bank roll that'll choke Red Bank Can- yon.” uts knocked and came in. Now, you go along up town, Uncle Pe- ter. I want a few minutes with Mr. Fouts, and I'll come to your place at 7.” The old man arose dejectedly. “Don’t let me interfere a minute with your financial operations. .'m too old & man to be around in folks' way.” He slouched out with his head bent. A moment later Percival remembersd his last words, also his reference to Blythe. \He was selzed with fear for what he might do In his despair. Uncle Peter would act quickly if his mind had been made up. He ran out into Wall street, and hur- ried up to Broadway. A block off on that crowded thoroughfare he saw the tall figure of Uncle Peter turning into the door of a saloon. He might have bought poison. He ran the length of the block and turned in. ; Uncle Peter stood at one end of the bar with a glass of creamy beer In front of him. At the moment Percival entered he was Inclosing a large slab of Swiss cheese between two slices of rye bread. He turned and faced Percival, looking from him to his sandwich with vacant eyes. “I'm that wrought up and distressed, son, I hardly know what I'm doin’! Look at me now with this ff in my hands.” “I just wanted to be sure you were gll right,” sald Percival, greatly relleved. ““All right,” the old man repeated. “All right? My God—rulned! There's nothin® left to do now.” He looked absently at the sandwieh, and bit a generous semicircle into it. “I don’t see how yoy can eat, Uncle Peter. It's so horrible!” “I don’t myself; it ain’t a healthy appe- tite—can't be—must be some Kind of ‘d fever inside of me—I s'pose—from all this trouble. And now I've come to poverty and want in my old age. Say, son, I be- lteve there's jest one thing ¥ to keep me from goin’' crazy. “Name it, Uncle Peter. You bet do it! 1 “Well, it ain't much—of course wouldn’t expect you to do all them things you was jest braggin’ about back there— about goin’ to work the properties Il.l’l(! all that—you would do it if you cou.d.( I know—but it ain't that All I ask Is, don’t play this Wall street game nn): more. If we can save out enough Dy good luck to keep us decently, so your ma won't have to take boarders, don't you go and lose that, too. mortgage the One Girl. I may be sort of superstitious, but somehow I don't be- lleve Wall street is your game. Course, I don't say you ain’t got a game—of some kind—but I got one of them presentiments that It ain’t Wall atreet.” “I don't belteve it is, Uncle Peter—‘( won't touch another share, and I won't go near Shepler agaln. We'll keep the One Girl.” He called a cab for the old man, and saw him started safely off uptown. At the hotel Uncle Peter met Billy Brue flourishing an evening paper that flared with exclamatory headlines. “It's all in the papers, Uncle Peter!" *“Dead broke! Ain't it awful Billy!™ ‘Say, Uncle Peter, you sald you'd ralse hell, and you done it. You done it good, didn’t you?" CHAPTER XXXV. THE NEWS BROKEN, WHEREUPON AN ENGAGEMENT IS BROKEN. At 7 Perctval found Uncle Peter at his hotel, still in abyssmal depths of woe. Together they went to break the awful news to the unsuspecting Mrs. Bines and Psyche. “If you'd only learned something useful while you had the chance,” began Uncle Peter, dismally, as they were driven to the Hightower, “how to do tricks with cards, or how to sing funny songs, like that little friend of yours from Baltl- more you was tellin’ me about. Look at him, now. He didn’t have anything but his own ability. He could tell you every time what card you was thinkin’ about, and do a skirt dance and give comlc reci- tations and imitate a dog fight out in the back yard. and now he's married to one of the richest ladles in New York. Why couldn’t you 'a’ been learnin’ some of them clever things, so you could 'a’ mar- ried some good-hearted woman with lots of money—but no—" TUncle Peter's tones were bitter to excess—“you was a rich man's son and ralsed In idleness— and now, when the rainy day's come, you can't even take a white rabbit out of a stove-pipe hat To these senile maunderings Percival paid no attention. When they camse into the crowd and lights of the Hightower, he sent the old man up alone. “You go, please, and break it to them, Uncle Peter. I'd rather not be there just at first. I'll come along in a little bit.” So Uncle Peter went, protesting that he was a broken old man and a cumberer of God’'s green earth. Mrs. Bines and Psyche had that mo- ment sat down to dinner. Uncle Peter's manner at once alarmed them. “It's all over,” he said, sinking into a chair. “Why, what's the matter, ter?” “Percival has—"" Mrs. Bines arose quicky, trembling. ‘There—I just knew it—it's all over— he's been struck by one of those terrible automobiles—Oh, take me to where he is Uncle Pe- “He ain't been run over—he's broke—lost all our money; every cen ‘“‘He hasn't been run over and killed?" “He's ruined us, I tell you, Marthy— lost every cent of our money In Wall street. “Hasn't he been hurt at all?—not even his leg broke or a big gash In his head and knocked senseless?” “That boy never had any sense. you he's lost all our money.” “And he ain't a bit hurt—nothing the matter with him?* “Ain’'t any more hurt than you or me this minute.” “You're not fooling his mother, Uncle Peter?” “I tell you he’s alive and well, only he's Jost your money and Pish’s and mine and his own.” Mrs. Bines breathed a long, trembling sigh of rellef, and sat down to the table again. “Well, ne need to scare a body out of their wits—scaring his mother to death won't bring his money back, will it? If it's gone “But ma, it is awful!” cried Psyche “Listen to what Uncle Peter says. We're poor! Don’t you understand? Perce has lost all our money.” Mrep Bines was eating her soup defl- antly. “Long’s he’s got his health,” she be- gone last I tell gan. “And me windin’ up in the poorhouse,™ whined Uncle Peter. “Think of it, ma! Ob, what shall we do?” Percival entered. Uncle Peter did not ralse his head. Psyche stared at him, His mother ran to him, satisfled herself that he was sound in wind and limb, thag he had not treacherously donned his sum- mer underwear and that his feet wers not wet. Then she led him to the table. “Now you sit right down here and take some food. If you're all right, every- thing is all right” With a weak attempt at his old gayety he began: - “Really, Mrs. Crackenthorpe—" but he caught Psyche’s look and had to stop. “I'm sorry, sis, clear into my bones. I made an ass of myselt—a regular fool right from the factory.” ever mind, my son; eat your soup,” saild his mother. And then, with honest intent to comfort him, “Remember that saying of you pa's, ‘it takes all kinds of fools to make a world." * “But there ain't any fool like a damn fool!” sald Uncle Peter, shortly. “I beea a-tellln’ him." “Well, you just let him alone; youll spoil his appetite, first thing you know. M{dmn, eat your soup now befors it gets “If T hadn’t gone in so heavy,” Percival. “Or if I'd only got tied up in some way for a few weeks—something [ could tide over.” ‘‘Yes,” sald Uncle Peter, with a cheerful effort at sarcasm, “it's always easy to think up a lot of holes you could get out of—some different kind of a hole besides the one you're in. That's all some folks ‘can do when they get in one hole, they say, ‘Oh, if I was only in that other one, now, how slick I could climb out!" Iain't ever met a person yet was satisfled with the hole they was in. Always some com- plaint to make about ‘em.” “And I had a chance to get out & week ago.” “Yes, and you wouldn't take It of course—you knew too much—swellin’ around here about bein' a Napoleon of finance—and Shepler and a Wisard of ‘Wall Street and all that kind of guff— and you wouldn't take your chance, and