UK ' "I l.D IIUKKOW FIVB THOI -AM) DOLLARS FKOM 1119 UNCLE. 
 
 Frontispiece. Page 57.
 
 THE 
 
 LOSING GAME 
 
 BY 
 
 WILL PAYNE 
 
 Illustrations by 
 F. R. GRUGER 
 
 G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY 
 PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
 
 Copyright, 1909, By 
 THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 Copyright, 1910, By 
 G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY 
 
 Tht Losing Game
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I THE WIRE SHARPS -. 7 
 
 II Two HEARTS THAT BEAT REXFORD 
 
 AS ONE , 47 
 
 III THE USUAL HAPPY ENDING 77 
 
 IV MR. REXFORD is DISPOSED OF 92 
 
 V How THE WIRE NET SPREAD 113 
 
 VI AN ENTERPRISE WITH MR. LANSING 146 
 VII WHERE THE MONEY CAME FROM ... 1 8 1 
 
 VIII FATE TAKES ADVANTAGE OF JOHN 
 
 POUND 202 
 
 JX How THE PARTNERSHIP WAS DIS- 
 SOLVED 218 
 
 X BEING AT WAR, POUND FINDS AN 
 
 ALLY 229 
 
 XI AT THE FLOOD OF FORTUNE 259 
 
 XII THE CAT COMES BACK 271 
 
 XIII How LUCK FAVORED POUND 287 
 
 XIV DRAWING IN THE NET 302 
 
 XV SOME ACCOUNTS ARE SQUARED .... 319 
 
 2137591
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 He could borrow five thousand dollars from his uncle 
 
 Frontispiece 57 
 
 ''I've known of twenty thousand dollars being cleaned up 
 
 on one race" 26 
 
 "You've thrown me down!" yelled Rexford .... 108 
 
 He just saved himself from blurting out idiotically: 
 "Thank you" 114 
 
 "I'd cover the country with bucketshops on a hundred- 
 dollar bill" 118 
 
 "This is Totherow. Go ahead instantly" 176 
 
 He swore she should never set foot in the office again . . 247 
 A sallow young man with an unusually long chin . . . 299
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE WIRE SHARPS 
 
 IN Chicago, one hot Wednesday afternoon, 
 a man and a woman sat side by side at a 
 long table silently playing an odd game. 
 Each had a pack of paper slips a little larger; 
 than ordinary playing cards. Upon his slips the 
 man wrote things like this: Cen 130^6 SR 19 BO 
 62 > 'ACP 92^4 RG 24. When he had written 
 three such signs upon a slip, one below the other, 
 he pushed that slip from the top of his pack with 
 a touch of his finger. The woman reached over 
 and picked it up. In front of her was a round, 
 black metal disk a foot and a half across, con- 
 taining keys with letters and numerals on them 
 like the keys of a typewriter, but arranged in a 
 circle. Putting the slip which the man had dis- 
 carded upon the top of her pack, the woman's fin- 
 gers fell lightly on the keys of her machine. That 
 
 7
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 was all. Since nine o'clock in the morning they had 
 teen doing just that without speaking a word. 
 
 The man was known as John Roth; but that 
 was not his name. Some time before he had 
 been engaged in a wire-tapping enterprise which 
 had turned out unfortunately. He had good 
 reason for changing his name and letting his 
 beard grow. The beard was coarse, straight and 
 of a muddy brown. His forehead was broad and 
 sloping, his eyebrows bushy, his nose uncom- 
 monly large. His big, sprawling body had slipped 
 half out of the wooden armchair. He was in 
 shirt-sleeves, the right cuff rolled up to his elbow, 
 and his back was partly turned to the woman so 
 that his upthrust right shoulder seemed to ward 
 her off. Occasionally he ran his fingers through 
 his hair. His round, gray eyes held impassively 
 to the pack of white slips; but inside he raged 
 sullenly, with a gnawing sense of being an under 
 dog that was not only beaten raw, but muzzled. 
 He had a vague, yet painful, feeling that if he 
 could only bite somebody it would be a blessed 
 relief. 
 
 8
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 He merely touched the slips from the top of his 
 pack, making the woman reach an arm's length 
 to get them which she did silently and steadily, 
 putting them on top of her pack; her fingers 
 touching the keys of her machine. Her brown 
 eyes were demurely downcast to the work, but 
 now and then, as she reached for a slip, they 
 took in the man's towsled hair and coarse beard, 
 his burly, defensive shoulder and solid head, the 
 chin resting on his breastbone. That occasional 
 look through her dark, demure eyelashes seemed 
 to throw off tiny sparks. Twice or thrice, also, 
 her lips parted slightly and, very gently, she 
 clicked her small, white teeth together. 
 
 She was a little past twenty-six, not very tall 
 and not in the least fat, but her attractive figure 
 was plumply filled out. Her dress was blue and 
 white, its extreme simplicity suggesting the uni- 
 form of a nurse. One might have said that her 
 dark, velvety eyes and luxuriant hair were her 
 best points. She appeared on the pay-roll as Miss 
 Emma Raymond. 
 
 The room was about twelve feet by twenty, and 
 9
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 they were the only occupants excepting the office 
 manager, who sat at a desk over by the window 
 a man grown gray in the service, now heavily 
 oppressed by heat and flesh and rheumatism. On 
 the long table immediately at the woman's right 
 stood a pretty contrivance of burnished brass. It 
 might have been taken for the show model of a 
 complicated engine, but it was alive. Here and 
 there a part stirred uneasily, and at the farther 
 end a brass finger moved erratically around a 
 wheel, occasionally giving off little sparks. The 
 wall at the end of the room was taken up with 
 an arrangement of metal, tile and electric-light 
 bulbs. That, too, was uneasily alive. Light 
 flashed and died in the bulbs, now here, now there, 
 as though it were trying to play a tune. 
 
 Nearly everything in the room seemed trying 
 to do something that it couldn't. The man and 
 woman got to no culminative point in their game ; 
 the brass contrivance stirred and sparked, but 
 didn't go; the light no sooner showed in a bulb 
 than it died. One thing, however, did go a 
 
 little wheel in a brass box at the woman's left 
 
 10
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 hand. It went like mad, and from it unwound 
 an endless ribbon of white paper, printed over 
 with letters and numerals like this: Cen 130^ 
 SR 19 BO 6zy 2 ACP 92^ RG 24. 
 
 The paper ribbon was a ticker tape. The 
 letters and numerals on it gave the price at which 
 stocks were selling. The quotations were coming 
 to the man over the "C N D" wire= the fast wire 
 direct from the New York Stock Exchange. The 
 woman's machine operated all the tickers by which 
 these quotations were transmitted to local brokers 
 and bucketshops. The man wrote: "UP 69^ ;" 
 the woman touched the keys of her machine: "UP 
 69^4" came out on the tape in many offices up and 
 down La Salle Street and thereabouts; brisk 
 young men chalked the figures on the blackboards, 
 and a thousand gamesters were glad or sad at 
 seeing that Union Pacific stock had sold at $69.25 
 a share. 
 
 Across a small court from this room was a 
 much larger one, containing many long tables 
 equipped with banks of telegraph instruments at 
 
 which rows of operators were seated. From the 
 
 ii
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 big room, through open windows, came a wide, 
 confused clatter as from a huge swarm of metal- 
 lic and unrhythmic crickets. The man was aware 
 of this hard, rapid, senseless clatter; aware, also, 
 that it was beastly hot, for a little trickle of per- 
 spiration ran down his big nose. Mentally, he 
 cursed the weather and the quotations and the 
 telegraph company and everybody who was mak- 
 ing a noise in the big room and himself. 
 
 All day he had been writing badly on purpose. 
 Now, he let his hand slide off into a half-intelligi- 
 ble scrawl. Moreover, he began to abbreviate 
 outrageously. In the stock code, for example, 
 "STP 1 19 24" meant a sale of the common stock 
 of the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul Railway 
 at $119.75 a share; "EF 45 y 2 " meant a sale of 
 the first preferred stock of the Erie Railway at 
 $45.50 a share. But he scratched down merely 
 
 With such blind copy only a very alert and 
 intelligent operator of the ticker machine could 
 send out the quotations correctly. No word, how- 
 ever, came from the person behind his right 
 
 12
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 shoulder. Nobody called up the manager to pro- 
 test that the quotations were wrong. Evidently, 
 she was sending them out correctly. So the man 
 guessed that the woman was able to read the sig- 
 nals as they came over his wire. Now, an oper- 
 ator of the ticker machine need not understand 
 telegraphy. With good copy the work is quite 
 mechanical. He had his own idea as to why a 
 woman who did understand telegraphy had been 
 put beside him. 
 
 The work was finished about half-past two, and 
 a little later the man left the office. Striding over 
 the threshold, he noticed Miss Raymond standing 
 in the corridor. She stepped forward, and he 
 perceived, with surprise, that she was going to 
 speak to him. They had been introduced after 
 the manner of the office. That is, the manager, 
 showing her to the chair at his side the previous 
 Monday morning, had said: "Miss Raymond, 
 Mr. Roth." He had merely bowed then and 
 since. She had shown no inclination to go beyond 
 impersonal nods. Her deportment, indeed, was 
 very modest. 
 
 13
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Now, confronting him in the corridor in her 
 nurselike dress and plain straw hat she ad- 
 dressed him in a rather low, even voice a voice 
 quite ladylike and the muscles of her face were 
 perfectly controlled. She said: 
 
 "Say, what's the matter with you, anyhow, you 
 big stiff? What are you trying to soak me for?" 
 
 He was completely disconcerted. Looking 
 down into her brown eyes he perceived that she 
 was angry and had no more fear of him than a 
 ferret has of a rat. She continued in the same 
 even, ladylike voice : 
 
 "I'm going to hold that job, and you can't do 
 me out of it by giving me rotten copy. You can 
 bet I won't stand for it another day. I don't want 
 to make a row unless I have to, so I'll give you a 
 chance to wake up. Does it grind you to see me 
 making fourteen dollars a week punching that 
 machine all day? Or have you got somebody you 
 want to work in there? What ails you, anyway? 
 A man that has to wash his face with a currycomb 
 can't do me." 
 
 Quite helplessly he put his hand to the con- 
 14
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 temned beard. And then he burst out laughing 
 for there was something companionable in her 
 wrath, a sort of good-fellowship in the oppro- 
 brious terms she applied to him; and the man, in 
 truth, hungered for fellowship. He was as lone- 
 some as a wounded animal in a hole. That was 
 their real introduction. Its violence not only 
 broke the ice, but fairly warmed the water. In- 
 deed, about ten minutes later they were walking 
 up La Salle Street together. 
 
 "And so," she remarked, looking thoughtfully 
 up at him from under her dark eyelashes, "you 
 thought I was a spotter." 
 
 He had not said so. She had merely inferred 
 it from what he did say. "Spotters are not pop- 
 ular, except at headquarters," he replied good- 
 naturedly; "and a woman who was a telegraph 
 operator wouldn't be running that ticker machine 
 at fourteen dollars a week unless she had some- 
 thing else in view." 
 
 "I can receive pretty well," she explained, "but 
 I haven't learned to send yet. My brother-in-law 
 is an operator. He's been teaching me and coach- 
 
 15
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 ing me up on that ticker-machine job. You see, 
 he got the job for me as his sister. Maybe you 
 know him Jim Raymond?" 
 
 He did not answer. It was not convenient to 
 say whether he knew Jim Raymond, for by a sort 
 of free-masonry among telegraph operators one 
 may be able to trace another. 
 
 "So you want to be a telegraph operator?" he 
 said companionably, yet with a faint touch of 
 sarcasm. 
 
 "Oh, yes," she replied in her demure way. "I 
 want to stub my fingers off, twelve hours a day, 
 for grub and lodging, and have some fat assistant 
 superintendent chuck me under the chin. That's 
 what I'm honing for. Don't you feel that way 
 about it yourself?" 
 
 The man's heart stirred, as though somebody 
 had said to the beaten under dog: "You're per- 
 fectly satisfied with this diet of breadcrumbs and 
 cold potatoes, aren't you? You'll never, never 
 again try to jump through the pantry door and 
 grab a steak, will you although, as you've been 
 noticing, the door isn't quite shut?" 
 
 16
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 It was brutally hot in the street. The glare 
 from the stone flagging hurt their eyes. Crowds 
 of people toiled sweatily along, jostling them. 
 Behind was the stifling operating-room, with its 
 hard, idiotic clatter, whither he would go as soon 
 as he had a bite to eat, and work a commercial 
 wire for three hours to eke out the eighty dollars 
 a month that he got for working the stock wire. 
 Oh, undoubtedly, this was what he wanted ! They 
 stopped on the hot, dirty cobblestones of the 
 crossing to let a big, bottle-green automobile glide 
 by. A man and a woman lolled negligently on 
 the back seat. He didn't want anything like that 
 himself! Oh, no! 
 
 All the same, he looked warily down at the 
 woman's trim, demure figure out of the tail of 
 his eye, and talked of telegraphy. He had been 
 burned once, and was shy. She was to take a 
 trolley car at the corner of Monroe Street, and 
 he waited with her for it to come along. 
 
 "I suppose it's better than some other jobs 
 has more opportunities for a bright young man," 
 she said. Her words were innocent enough, but
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 a different meaning seemed to lurk in her dark 
 eyes. 
 
 "I've never seen the opportunities myself," he 
 replied dryly. 
 
 * "No?" she inquired, and gathered up her skirt, 
 for the car was approaching. "I supposed i 
 you took me for a spotter, and it made you sore 
 I supposed you must be putting something over." 
 
 He laughed easily. "Oh, there's no chance 
 there to put anything over!" he said. She went 
 out to the car and glanced back at him quizzically 
 over her shoulder. He laughed again and waved 
 his hat. 
 
 That was the beginning of an odd sort of court- 
 ship, in which she was the aggressor. Neither of 
 them was thinking of matrimony then. He wasn't 
 thinking much of gallantry; nor she of flirting, 
 but already the thin edge of an idea lay between 
 them. She contemplated it candidly; but the man, 
 as yet, pretended it wasn't there. 
 
 It would be hard to say whence this idea came. 
 The man had always been a quite law-abiding 
 
 citizen, excepting his wire-tapping adventure, and 
 
 18
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 a great many people regarded beating a poolroom 
 as not only permissible but praiseworthy. One 
 of the woman's occupations had been that of cash- 
 ier in a florist's shop, and there she had tapped 
 the till a little; but the florist himself was a 
 cheat, and his son tapped the till regularly. So 
 her conscience was clear. 
 
 After a while she told him about tapping the 
 till for they fell into a way of seeing each other 
 pretty regularly outside of the office going to 
 luncheon together, or to some respectable place 
 for a chat over a glass of beer after the work was 
 done. He found at once that, although she per- 
 mitted herself considerable freedom of speech, 
 her conduct was always modest, and she was very 
 strong on some of the proprieties. Indeed, he 
 had trouble in persuading her that a rather sad 
 little Italian restaurant below the Board of Trade 
 was perfectly respectable. 
 
 One day she said teasingly: "What is it you're 
 putting over, there at the office ? I can't catch on 
 to it. Why don't you let me in?" 
 
 "Oh, there's no chance there to put anything 
 19
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 over," he replied, laughing it off as he had done 
 before. 
 
 "But those quotations mean money in the 
 brokers' offices and bucketshops, don't they?" she 
 persisted. 
 
 "What do you know about bucketshops?" he 
 said, taking her half-joking tone. 
 
 "I suppose," she replied, "you guessed from 
 my conversation that I. was brought up in a con- 
 vent. But I wasn't. I've lived in this mussy 
 little burg all my life. Born right over here on 
 Desplaines Street. About the bucketshop," she 
 continued, "when my florist failed I quit with two 
 hundred and fifty dollars part mine, part his. 
 Like a dutiful child I trotted over to a ladies' 
 bucketshop on Sherman Street with it. I had a 
 hot tip from good old Jim Raymond, and I 
 thought I was going to make a home run ; but they 
 had me fanned out before I could grasp the bat. 
 I've had sort of rotten luck," she added, and 
 though she spoke jestingly her eyes darkened. 
 
 "Married, I suppose?" he asked sympathet- 
 ically. 
 
 20
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 "Oh, sure," she replied promptly. "I 
 couldn't have missed that any more than a man 
 sneaking home with a jag could miss falling over 
 the piano lamp. Married at twenty and off and 
 on for the next five years. It's off for keeps now. 
 After five years of my kind of marriage any smart 
 woman ought to be able to graduate." 
 
 "Yes, you've had poor luck," he said gravely. 
 
 "I judge," she replied rather casually, "there's 
 one member of the Roth family that knows a 
 lemon when he sees it." 
 
 "You can judge better," he answered, "when I 
 tell you my name isn't Roth. My name is John 
 Pound." At once his heart stirred as though 
 something had pricked it, and he bottled himself 
 up again. By that time she was familiar with 
 the bottling process. He would move only an 
 inch at a time. So she talked more about her- 
 self. 
 
 "Father's regular occupations were belonging 
 to the union, supporting the Democratic party, 
 losing his job and nursing a grouch," she said. 
 
 "He was bully at all of them; but the family's 
 
 21
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 long suit was vi-cissitudes. I went to work when 
 I was twelve a bright little cash-girl. After that, 
 when father had a job I went to school once for 
 nearly three years at a stretch. Then we came in 
 for a whole collection of vi-cissitudes, and I went 
 to work again. My own happy home had vi-cis- 
 situdes where other homes have carpets and food. 
 But my brother-in-law is all right honest as the 
 day is long and twice as poor. For a man that 
 never had any money, Jim has lost more on more 
 fool things than anybody living. But he's a good 
 fellow." 
 
 He responded slowly to her candor; did not 
 even mention where he lodged, or whether he 
 was married or single. He was reticent, not 
 because he had been wicked, but because he had 
 been so mortifyingly ineffectual. He had been 
 brought up, in fact, in a country town in Illinois. 
 His mother was a widow in straitened circum- 
 stances. He still resented, with dogged bitter- 
 ness, that she had been employed as cook in the 
 village hotel. He quit school early and deviled 
 in one of the local weekly newspaper offices for a 
 
 22
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 while. Presently, he learned telegraphy. At 
 twenty-one, the offer of a job at St. Louis opened 
 prospects which he deemed fairly elysian. He 
 saved his money carefully and then encouraged 
 by some hopeful young speculators in the office 
 invested it in a get-rich-quick scheme, where it 
 instantly vanished. After that he tempted For- 
 tune with many tiny baits at faro, in pool rooms 
 and bucketshops but in the end she always swal- 
 lowed the bait and left him "broke." He was 
 forced to the conclusion that, to win, a fellow 
 must play the game from the inside, and so, in 
 due time, he embarked in the wire-tapping enter- 
 prise. That promised splendidly for a while 
 and then his pals left him holding the empty bag, 
 as usual. There was nothing in all this that he 
 cared to tell anybody precisely because all this 
 implied something which he profoundly disbe- 
 lieved. It implied that he was incompetent, a 
 mere sucker ; and he still had the feeling of ability. 
 Now, he gathered from this alert, dark-eyed wom- 
 an that she had the same feeling about him. She 
 paid him no open compliments; was likelier to 
 
 23
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 call him a "lobster." All the same, her attitude 
 toward his mind was subtly admiring. 
 
 Toward his person she seemed to have scarcely 
 any attitude. They met in a sexless sort of way 
 went to luncheon together, or, sometimes, had 
 a talk in the afternoon when their work was done. 
 She told him where she lived, on the West Side. 
 
 "No place for company," she added, frankly. 
 "My younger sister and I have a couple of taggy 
 rooms and do light housekeeping mighty light. 
 May's had sort of poor luck, too. She isn't gritty 
 like me, so it was harder for her." She ruminated 
 a moment, apparently looking some distance 
 back. 
 
 "Well," she said, soberly, "there's no use quar- 
 reling with the umpire. If he says you're out, 
 you're out all right. It took me quite a while to 
 learn that. Being reasonable never was father's 
 long suit. He went in more for temper. And 
 mother was always scared half out of her wits 
 just giving in, without any more spine than a mop, 
 to whatever he said or did. It used to make me 
 
 crazy. I suppose I had my small cocoanut batted 
 
 24
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 as far as from here to the North Pole before I 
 got it fully settled in my mind that, no matter how 
 unreasonable he was, he was stronger than me 
 and could lick me. It was a fine lesson after I 
 got my brains sifted back into their right place. 
 Since I learned it, I've usually managed to keep 
 my mouth shut unless I had an ax handy." 
 
 In this odd way of hers, she really touched the 
 man's sympathy. She seemed to him a very 
 courageous creature, who had fought against un- 
 fair odds, and lost, and still had her courage un- 
 dimmed. It was hard to resist, very long, her 
 companionable candor. He was desperately lone- 
 some, and an idea tacitly lay between them. 
 
 So the time came when he explained to her the 
 operation of wire-tapping. He made a rough 
 little diagram on the back of an envelope so she 
 would understand it better. Here was the race- 
 track. This long line was the wire from the track 
 to Chicago. Here was where the wire-tappers 
 cut the wire in two above some loft, or, perhaps, 
 above a copse of trees or a cornfield where the 
 illicit operators sat hidden with their instru- 
 
 25
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 ments on an upturned shoe-box. As the report 
 of the race came over the wire these operators 
 took it off and held it back until they had the 
 name of the winning horse. Then, by a prear- 
 ranged code, they flashed that name to their con- 
 federates who were posted in the poolrooms. 
 The confederates at once bet on the horse that 
 had already won. When the illicit operators 
 sent in the delayed report they took their winnings 
 and departed. 
 
 Both of them were bending over the table in the 
 Italian place, the rough diagram between them. 
 "I've known of twenty thousand dollars being 
 cleaned up on one race," he said. 
 
 As he glanced up her full, level look fell into 
 his eyes. "Why did you quit it?" she asked with 
 sympathy. 
 
 He smiled a little, ungenially. "They got on 
 to us. There was trouble. The rest of the gang 
 skipped out and left me to hold the bag. I'm 
 liable to arrest now." 
 
 She had felt sure something like that had hap- 
 pened. Still sympathetically she said: "But 
 
 26
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 they got more than your money they got your 
 nerve. You're all bottled up." 
 
 He had rather known that before they had 
 got his nerve ; he was cowed and bottled up. But 
 someway, as she said it, looking into his eyes, it 
 came home to him with force. Also, it came to 
 him that her nerve had been inspiring him; that 
 she had been helping him up out of the hole in 
 which he skulked a hurt animal. After that they 
 got on faster. 
 
 A few days later he was again marking on the 
 back of an envelope for her. "You've noticed," 
 he said, speaking in a low tone, "that there are a 
 lot of things on the ticker tape besides the quota- 
 tions proper. For example" he wrote it on the 
 envelope "you'll see this: 'No Pa 135.' That 
 means the operator has sent out a quotation of 
 135 on Pennsylvania Railroad stock, but it was a 
 mistake, so now he sends 'No Pa 135' to cancel 
 the mistake. Or you'll see 'Last E 18.' That 
 means there has been confusion somewhere as to 
 the last quotation on Erie, so the last quotation is 
 
 repeated. Or you'll see 'Cen s. 129.' That 
 
 27
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 means, 'New York Central has sold at 129' a 
 quotation at that price on New York Central has 
 been overlooked, and it is now sent over the tape 
 out of the regular order in which it occurred. 
 You understand?" 
 
 She slowly nodded her head. "I see. You 
 mean you could send out things of that sort over 
 the tape to suit yourself." Her voice, like his, 
 was perfectly steady, yet pitched low; her eyes, 
 like his, were full of meaning for it was a good 
 deal like tiptoeing through a room by the thin 
 ray of a dark lantern toward a safe they were 
 about to crack. 
 
 "Now, take some stock that is rather inactive 
 at present," he went on under his breath. "Let 
 us say, Wabash preferred. Some days there may 
 not be a trade in it for an hour or more; other 
 days there may be quite a little spurt of trading 
 in it. Suppose it has sold at 1 8 ; that is the last 
 quotation the last price the bucketshops have. 
 Suppose, then, it runs into one of those occasional 
 spurts of activity. I receive from New York a 
 
 quotation of 18^' on Wabash preferred. But, 
 
 28
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 unfortunately, I'm sort of sleepy; I neglect to 
 write it down ; it doesn't go out on the ticker tape 
 at all, so the bucketshops don't get it. They're 
 still trading in Wabash preferred at 18. Then I 
 get from New York sales of Wabash preferred at 
 1 8%, 18^. But I'm still sleepy; I neglect to 
 send them out. A little later I get a sale at 18^. 
 Then I send out something like this: 'WZ s. 18 
 BO 62 A 27 Last E 18.' An ordinary person 
 would take that to mean simply: 'Wabash pre- 
 ferred has sold at 18; Baltimore and Ohio sells at 
 62 ; Atchison sells at 27 ; the last quotation on 
 Erie was 18.' But if you were watching that tape 
 you would see 'Wabash preferred has sold,' fol- 
 lowed by two commonplace quotations any two, 
 no matter what and then followed by 'The last 
 quotation on Erie was' so and so. Seeing that 
 combination on the tape you would at once guess 
 that I had been sleepy about Wabash preferred; 
 that, as a matter of fact, higher quotations had 
 come in, but I had neglected to send them out. So 
 you would presently saunter over to the counter 
 
 and buy a hundred shares of Wabash preferred 
 
 29
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 at 1 8 that is, you would bet with the bucketshop 
 that Wabash preferred was going to sell higher 
 than 1 8. And a little later I would sort of wake 
 up and remember those other quotations on Wa- 
 bash preferred and begin sending them out. Pres- 
 ently, therefore, the bucketshop would get a quo- 
 tation of 1 8^6 on Wabash preferred; then i8j4, 
 1 8 21$ and 183/3. And you would have won fifty 
 dollars, less the commission of twenty-five dollars 
 to the bucketshop. With only three symbols, or 
 code words, you know, a good many combinations 
 can be made as to buy such and such a stock, to 
 sell such and such a stock, to close your trade." 
 
 "I can see that," she replied thoughtfully. 
 "But" she seemed, someway, rather disap- 
 pointed "on that Wabash preferred that you 
 mentioned we would make only twenty-five dollars, 
 and we'd have to wait for our opportunity wait 
 until the market was right before we could make 
 even that." 
 
 "Of course, we could take a jimmy or a sand- 
 bag and make it faster," he replied dryly; "but 
 the risk would be much greater. If we made 
 
 30
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 only a couple of hundred dollars in a week it 
 would be a little better than telegraph salaries, 
 wouldn't it?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, that's true," she said, brightening. 
 "And then," she added, brightening still more, 
 "as we got more money to operate with we could 
 win more." 
 
 He put the envelope in his pocket. "So far as I 
 know," he observed still more dryly, "we haven't 
 got any money at all to operate with. Of course, 
 we can't do anything without some money." 
 
 She dropped back in the chair, quite overcast. 
 "I suppose we couldn't even go out and rob a 
 bank without some money to begin on," she said. 
 "But see here : I can dig up something. I've got 
 a little jewelry. I can raise fifty dollars. We 
 can begin with that." 
 
 Her determination encouraged him. "Well, I 
 could dig up fifty," he said. "And then, prob- 
 ably, I could raise another hundred from a loan 
 shark. Sharks like telegraph operators they're 
 such suckers." 
 
 "Sure !" she replied eagerly. "And what's the
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 matter with my borrowing fifty from a shark? 
 I'm an 'honest salaried people' like they advertise 
 for. And there, do you see, we'd be a hundred 
 and fifty ahead right away, for we'd let the 
 sharks whistle for their money!" 
 
 He laughed. Her courage inspired him; and 
 his nerves tingled as pleasantly as those of a 
 prisoner who notices that the guard has left a 
 door unlocked. To have money! It was like a 
 caged animal looking through the bars at the 
 great, open world. 
 
 Next day she informed the office manager that 
 she had another job and would leave Saturday. 
 The intervening leisure they devoted to raising 
 the capital for their enterprise and to devising 
 and studying a secret code made up of innocent- 
 looking notations on the ticker tape. Saturday 
 afternoon, in a little German garden on the North 
 Side, they went over it again carefully. 
 
 Presently the man said gravely, even gently: 
 "You know, there's some risk in this for you. Of 
 course, it isn't exactly a nice thing for a man to 
 let a woman in for a risk of that sort." That 
 
 32
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 unpleasant thought had been in his mind for some 
 time. He was going into action with a female 
 for his companion in arms, wholly sharing the 
 danger. He felt a certain loathness and humilia- 
 tion over so unchivalrous a thing. 
 
 "It's just my good luck, Johnny," she replied 
 soberly. "If you hadn't been sort of down on 
 your luck and underdoggy I'd never have got the 
 chance to go in with you. You're doing me a 
 favor that not many men would do. Most men 
 are too conceited to give a woman a chance at 
 the bat." 
 
 With this little intimate and comradely pas- 
 sage they let that side of the matter drop. 
 
 "But there's one thing to remember," he cau- 
 tioned. "You will have to lose now and then 
 I mean, just go in and buy or sell blind, without 
 any signal from me. If you won every time 
 they'd grow suspicious and get on to us. To win 
 on a signal twice and then take your chances the 
 third time would be a good rule." 
 
 "I see," she replied. But she wasn't thinking 
 very much about the cautionary advice. She was 
 
 33
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 calculating how long it would take, if they doubled 
 their stakes, to get ten thousand dollars apiece \ 
 
 About ten o'clock Monday morning Emma was 
 walking briskly down Jackson Boulevard. She 
 was dressed as plainly as when she had been a 
 mere humble employee of the telegraph company, 
 although she was now a capitalist with three hun- 
 dred dollars in her handbag. She had chosen 
 that route in order to pass the Western Union 
 Telegraph Company's tall, red office-building. 
 And, passing it, she glanced up at its towering 
 facade and exulted over it. No more thumping 
 a ticker machine at fourteen per for her! She 
 turned into Sherman Street and entered a certain 
 dingy building as one who knew the way. Going 
 up the broad stairs her heart, undoubtedly, beat 
 faster. He had told her it was rather risky, and 
 she would have known that without being told. 
 But her hand was perfectly steady; there was no 
 quailing in her mind. She had had a great plenty 
 of being the goat. 
 
 On the second floor, at the right-hand side of 
 the corridor, in front, there was a door with a 
 
 34
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 sign on the ground-glass panel reading: "Hil- 
 pricht & Co., Stocks, Bonds, Grain." On the 
 left-hand side of the corridor, at the rear, the 
 panel of another door had the sign: "Women's 
 Commission Company." Both establishments 
 catered especially to women. She had lost money 
 in both, but she chose Hilpricht & Co. first. 
 
 The door opened to a room about thirty feet 
 square. Over in a corner a little private office, 
 having the sign "Manager" above the entrance, 
 was partitioned off with rosewood and plate glass. 
 A rosewood counter, with a plate-glass screen 
 above it, extended along that side of the room. 
 The other side was partly taken up with a large 
 blackboard. At the end of the blackboard, in the 
 corner by one of the windows, stood a ticker. A 
 melancholy-looking youth, in a belted blue blouse 
 the worse for wear, tore off six or seven inches of 
 the ticker tape, walked across in front of the 
 blackboard and chalked up the quotations from 
 the piece of tape; then he walked back, stuck 
 that piece of tape on a slim steel spindle and tore 
 off a fresh piece. The room looked clean. A 
 > 35
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 large domestic rug on the floor was unsoiled. 
 Upon the rug, between the counter and the black- 
 board, eighteen neat willow rocking-chairs stood 
 in two rows. More than half of the chairs were 
 occupied, and by women. 
 
 Three, who seemed of a party, sat over by the 
 window in the front row. They were well dressed 
 and had, generally, the appearance of respectable, 
 well-to-do matrons. They kept up a steady con- 
 versation among themselves. Next them sat an 
 elderly lady, very skinny and leathery, in a shape- 
 less black dress. She had taken off a bedraggled 
 hat and laid it on her bony knees. Her sparse 
 hair was drawn straight back into a doughnut at 
 the top of her head. She had a piece of stout 
 string, a yard long, and as her eyes held unwaver- 
 ingly to the blackboard she slowly wound this 
 string, first on one thumb, then on the other. 
 iWhen a thumb was bare one could see creases in 
 it like the threads of a screw, made by innumer- 
 able windings of the bit of string. There were 
 two vacant chairs; then came a fat woman of fifty, 
 sadly bleached and painted, wearing a costly lace 
 
 36
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 dress, her fingers stiff with rings. She was talk- 
 ing volubly to a much younger and fairer com- 
 panion, who seemed bored. At the end of the 
 back row a neat, slim little woman of forty sat all 
 alone with a light veil over her face, through 
 which her anxious eyes shone. 
 
 To the newcomer this spectacle was sufficiently 
 familiar. She simply took it in with a demure 
 turn of her dark eyes, and stood examining the 
 quotations to get the general run of the market. 
 When she stepped in the manager had looked up 
 from his desk in the private office. Now he came 
 forward, smiling urbanely a notably heavy 
 young man, with apple-red, overhanging chops 
 and very large pale-blue eyes. He was very fash- 
 ionably dressed and wore a rosebud in his button- 
 hole. 
 
 "Good-morning, Mrs. Raymond," he said 
 affably, in the husky voice of a hard drinker, ex- 
 tending a pudgy white hand. 
 
 She shook hands with him demurely, murmur- 
 ing: "Good-morning, Mr. Dallam." 
 
 It was part of his job to remember all the 
 37
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 customers and try to make them feel at home. 
 "Glad to see you again," he remarked hospitably. 
 He was, in fact, recalling just how much she lost 
 the last time and wondering if she had as much 
 to lose again. He talked to her about the market 
 in a grave, yet friendly and confidential manner, 
 calling her attention to two or three things which 
 he thought she could make some money on. As 
 she listened to this serious, confidential advice and 
 modestly surveyed Mr. Dallam's expansive coun- 
 tenance she was thinking: "What a sucker I 
 was before !" 
 
 When Dallam strolled away with his air of 
 ponderous gallantry to encourage the slim, veiled 
 little woman with a few confidential words, Mrs. 
 Raymond looked around at the rosewood counter. 
 She seldom smiled, but now her lips parted and 
 her eyes sparkled. For a moment she stood 
 silently smiling and sparkling at the counter. And 
 on the other side of the counter a youth smiled 
 at her. He was hardly as old as herself, slender 
 and very blond. His smooth cheeks were pink 
 and white, and yellow hair curled over his fair 
 
 38
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 brow. She went over to the counter and put her 
 hand through the wicket, fairly laughing. "How 
 are you, Tommy?" she said. 
 
 On her first adventure in the bucketshop this 
 youth had told her frankly that she was a sucker 
 and would lose all her money. As she had been 
 a sucker and lost all her money, she felt fond of 
 Tommy. 
 
 "Got some more burning your pocket?" he 
 jeered. 
 
 She opened her handbag and showed him a roll 
 of bills, fairly laughing again. She was still smil- 
 ing a little to herself over Tommy as she loitered 
 up to the ticker and glanced over the last few 
 pieces of the tape that the young man had stuck 
 on the spindle. Nothing yet ; but the market had 
 been open only a little over an hour. She looked 
 out of the window; drifted over and joshed 
 Tommy a bit; stood examining the blackboard; 
 received more confidential advice from the man- 
 ager. But at intervals she gravitated back to 
 the ticker. Nothing that the busy little machine 
 printed on its endless ribbon escaped her eye. 
 
 39
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 So gravitating it was twenty-one minutes past 
 ten her heart leaped. The signal was just com- 
 ing out on the tape : "BRTs. 66 EZ 24^4." She 
 watched that group of symbols slip along as the 
 ribbon unwound, and her heart beat fast. Be- 
 hind them she fairly saw the big, sprawling man 
 in his shirt sleeves, in the hot office, steadily mark- 
 ing the slips of white paper. She felt a certain 
 glow of admiration, even of a sort of affection, 
 for her partner. "The good soldier man is right 
 on the job 1" she said to herself. 
 
 Cautious Pound had told her they shouldn't put 
 up any money the first day or so, but merely 
 try out their system to see that it worked per- 
 fectly. 
 
 Watching the symbols slide along her courage 
 urged her on. What was the use of waiting? 
 She walked over to the wicket, opened her hand- 
 bag and laid four crisp fifty-dollar bills on the 
 counter. "I'll buy a hundred Erie seconds at 
 twenty-four and three-quarters, Tommy," she 
 said, smiling at him. 
 
 Tommy shook his blond head as though giving 
 40
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 her up ; verified the quotation and gave her a little 
 slip certifying the purchase. 
 
 When the quotations were finished that day 
 Pound slipped on his coat and walked rapidly 
 in spite of the heat down to the little Italian 
 place. Emma was sitting at a table in the corner, 
 waiting for him. He seemed rather nervous. 
 
 "I've been thinking our game over, Emma," 
 he began abruptly and uneasily. He hadn't called 
 her Emma before. 
 
 There was a slip of colored paper in her hand. 
 She unfolded it and laid it in front of him a 
 check signed by Hilpricht & Co. "We're sixty- 
 two dollars and a half ahead of the game today, 
 Johnny!" she said gayly. 
 
 He looked at the slip of paper with some con- 
 fusion, then picked it up; finally, he burst out 
 laughing. 
 
 "You know I got cold feet thinking of you," 
 he said with embarrassed candor. "After all, 
 getting a woman into a mess of this kind if there 
 should be a mess " 
 
 She smiled quizzically. "I somehow had a 
 41
 
 TH% LOSING GAME 
 
 sort of suspicion you might, so I hopped right in," 
 she said. "And now, Johnny, don't you ever 
 think of me when your feet are cold. Think of 
 Florida or a soapstone." 
 
 There was no equivocating after that except 
 in one particular. He kept telling her that she 
 must lose now and then, or, at least, go in blind 
 and take her chances. For if she won every time 
 the bucketshop people would grow suspicious, and 
 if they grew suspicious they would presently trace 
 out the signals. He insisted upon this point. 
 Twice, indeed, she did place her money without 
 a signal from him. The first time she came out 
 even. But the second time she stuck to her bad 
 trade two days and lost a hundred and fifty dol- 
 lars. After that she simply couldn't bring her- 
 self to do it. She would sort of resolve to next 
 day. But when it came to the point of putting up 
 two hundred dollars in good money and taking the 
 chance of losing it her heart always failed her. 
 So she lied to him about it telling him she had 
 made such and such deals without a signal when 
 
 she hadn't. 
 
 42
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 She surveyed fat, hoarse Dallam with his big, 
 pale-blue eyes, and said to herself: "What's the 
 use of throwing away money on him ; he's a fool, 
 anyhow." And she took other precautions that 
 is, she traded sometimes in Hilpricht's and some- 
 times in the Woman's Commission Company; 
 sometimes she would get the signal on the tape in 
 one office and go into the other to make the trade. 
 She didn't know that Hilpricht & Co. and the 
 Woman's Commission Company were really one 
 concern, organized on the principle that a woman 
 will never buy anything unless she sees it in two 
 different shops. 
 
 One day, early in September, she sauntered into 
 Hilpricht's with her usual plain, neat dress and 
 demure air. Dallam was standing over by his 
 private office. A middle-aged man with a gray 
 mustache and brown hat, indifferently dressed, 
 was standing beside him. She thought that Dal- 
 lam glanced at this man significantly, yet it made 
 no particular impression upon her. 
 
 She went over to the ticker, pursuing her usual 
 tactics of moving about more or less, but always 
 
 43
 
 keeping run of the tape. Presently she got a sig- 
 nal to buy Colorado Fuel and Iron. As she 
 turned away from the ticker and approached the 
 counter she again noticed the stranger standing 
 over by Dallam's door. Their glances met hers 
 veiled by dark eyelashes. The man's look gave 
 her a subtle little chill something like a com- 
 pelling hand laid on her shoulder. Nevertheless, 
 she stepped to the wicket and opened her hand- 
 bag. Then she observed that Tommy looked 
 very unhappy. His bright blue eyes were down- 
 cast, and he kept on with his work as though he 
 didn't see her. She was well enough aware that 
 Tommy was fond of her; and she was instantly 
 suspicious. 
 
 "Tommy," she said softly, "who is that guy 
 over there?" 
 
 Tommy glanced up, deeply troubled. "Skip !" 
 he murmured. "They're after you." 
 
 "It's all right, honey; don't be scared," she 
 murmured back. "I'll buy twenty shares of 
 Union Pacific." She laid the money on the 
 counter. 
 
 44
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Taking the slip that certified the purchase she 
 sauntered away a little, and could hardly help 
 grinning when she saw Dallam step behind the 
 counter, evidently to find out what she had bought. 
 A moment later the stranger went over and exam- 
 ined the tape. Of course, he found upon it no 
 suspicious signal in approximation with Union 
 Pacific. In fact, at the next quotation Union Pa- 
 cific was lower. She waited ten minutes, then 
 strolled leisurely out of the office. 
 
 She knew well enough that an expert, once on 
 the right trail, could soon unravel their code 
 tracing out the signals and the withheld quota- 
 tions. She guessed that the stranger was a 
 detective from the headquarters of the telegraph 
 company. It looked decidedly as though their 
 game was up. Also, it looked rather dubious for 
 one John Pound, who called himself Roth. If 
 they were watching her, very likely they were 
 watching him, too. Probably he would, before 
 long, hold out some more quotations with un- 
 pleasant consequences. 
 
 Now, she had in her handbag and in the bank 
 45
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 to her credit a little over thirteen hundred dol- 
 lars the partnership's capital. That was quite 
 a sum for one person especially for one female 
 person. But divided by two it didn't amount to 
 much. Moreover, they might have already 
 nabbed Pound on the Colorado Fuel and Iron 
 quotation which he had withheld; and if she went 
 to his assistance she might simply get nabbed her- 
 self. With this thought very acutely in mind, she 
 halted at the foot of the dingy stairs, opened her 
 handbag and peered lingeringly in at the nice 
 crisp bills. She wanted them very much indeed. 
 
 46
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 TWO HEARTS THAT BEAT REXFORD AS ONE 
 
 STANDING in the dingy hall, Emma peered 
 lingeringly at the neat little roll of fifty- 
 dollar bills nestling in her handbag. She 
 felt a personal affection for them. To divide 
 them with Pound seemed a tragedy, like breaking 
 up a happy family. 
 
 But someway she had an instinctive faith that 
 Pound was going to turn out a winner, and she 
 had not gone into this game to quit with a mere 
 thirteen hundred dollars. 
 
 She could not reach Pound by telephone. !An 
 ordinary messenger might fall into the wrong 
 hands. Yet, if spotters were watching him, he 
 might at any moment hold out a quotation and 
 be caught at it. So she took the slip showing her 
 purchase of Union Pacific, put it against the grimy 
 wall and scribbled on its back, "Spotters. They're 
 on to us. Look out." Then she marched briskly 
 
 47
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 to the telegraph building, went up to the room 
 where he was at work, and silently thrust the 
 message under his nose. He looked at it, at her, 
 nodded, and went on with his work, while she 
 left the office as rapidly as she had entered it. 
 
 The game was up, then. Once more he was 
 merely a telegraph operator and she a young 
 woman out of a job. For a fortnight they re- 
 mained in that unpleasant position. Then Pound 
 was offered another situation. He explained it 
 to her in the Italian restaurant. 
 
 "The man's name is Rexford," he said. "He 
 looks like a hog. He wants me because he thinks 
 he can get me cheap. A bucketshop usually pays 
 an operator forty or fifty per cent, more than the 
 telegraph company does. But Rexford don't pro- 
 pose to do anything reckless like that. He offers 
 me an advance of ten dollars a month. He's 
 going out to Omaha to open a bucketshop, and 
 then he's going to have half a dozen other shops 
 out in the state at Fremont, Hastings, Grand 
 Island and so on. Those other shops are going 
 
 to be run as though they were independent con- 
 
 48
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 cerns. I suppose his idea is, if the customers of 
 one shop make a great big winning, he'll let that 
 shop fail and so beat the customers out of their 
 money. I'm going to handle the quotations for 
 him send them out, from Omaha, over his pri- 
 vate wire to Fremont, Hastings and so on." 
 
 His round, gray eyes twinkled mildly, and he 
 was grinning behind his beard like a man in high 
 good humor. 
 
 "You see," he explained dryly, "there are no 
 tickers in those country towns nothing to check 
 up the quotations by, so I can send 'em out a good 
 deal as I please." He put a large hand up to his 
 mouth to muffle a laugh. "I can hardly help 
 laughing," he said, "when I think what we'll do 
 to Mr. Rexford me at the wire in Omaha and 
 you out at Fremont or Hastings." 
 
 At Omaha the Rexford Commission Company 
 received in stock quotations direct from New 
 York by a drop from the "C N D" wire. As the 
 figures were chalked up on the blackboard there, 
 Pound repeated them over the private wire to 
 the allied offices but not always accurately. If 
 
 49
 
 he sent out, for example, "SR SR 8.23 GN 186," 
 the operator thought that meant simply, "South- 
 ern Railway has sold at 23 ; Great Northern now 
 sells at 1 86," and that Pound had stammered a 
 bit over the "Southern Railway." But to Emma, 
 sitting demurely in the Fremont bucketshop and 
 carefully listening to the telegraph instrument, it 
 meant, "Great Northern has been going down and 
 I have been holding out the quotations on it, so 
 sell some." 
 
 Beating Mr. Rexford's bucketshops by this 
 method was so easy that it was almost humdrum. 
 Save for the money it brought in they might al- 
 most have given it up as a bore. There was 
 hardly a check upon Pound. The only record of 
 what he sent consisted of the chalkmarks on the 
 Fremont blackboard, which were wiped out at the 
 end of the day's trading. He could hold out a 
 quotation on a rather inactive stock for hours 
 together, and had such freedom in arranging sig- 
 nals that he could almost visit with Emma over 
 the wire. 
 
 In fact, it was too easy. That was its fatal 
 50
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 defect. They tried to restrain themselves in order 
 to avoid arousing suspicion. But Emma won so 
 persistently that the manager of the Fremont 
 office simply refused to let her trade any longer. 
 Again the game was up. Before that, however, 
 an important event had happened. 
 
 Dropping in at the barroom of a hotel one 
 afternoon for a little social relaxation, Pound 
 saw a man who stood at the end of the bar over 
 a glass of beer. At the same time the man saw 
 Pound. He was a little the elder of the two 
 tall, lean, round-shouldered, his mouth covered 
 by a bushy, red mustache. He was noticeably 
 frayed and seedy; a much-faded derby hat 
 perched rakishly on the back of his head. His 
 name was Hamilton, and he had been associated 
 with Pound in a certain wire-tapping enterprise 
 which had turned out unfortunately for the latter. 
 Pound saw at once that Hamilton recognized 
 him; also, that Hamilton was on his uppers. So 
 he went over promptly, holding out his hand, say- 
 ing cordially: "Why, Ham, how are you?" 
 
 Hamilton as promptly took the outstretched
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 hand. "Says I to myself," he said humorously, 
 "there's Johnny Pound to the life." 
 
 "You were wrong," Pound replied easily. "It's 
 Johnny Roth." He took the man companionably 
 by the arm, led him to a table in the adjoining 
 grillroom, and ordered a bottle of champagne. 
 
 "Coming that easy for you, eh?" Hamilton 
 commented, and his grin was all the franker be- 
 cause a sort of open envy appeared in it. They 
 talked for more than an hour. Hamilton told his 
 hard-luck story humorously; said he was up 
 against it; guessed he'd have to try once more to 
 get a job pounding a telegraph key. 
 
 Pound's heart expanded. Of the gang which 
 had left him to hold the bag, he regarded Ham- 
 ilton as the least treacherous ; and he could realize 
 how this other man loathed to shut himself up in 
 a den, drearily rattling a telegraph key all day for 
 board and clothes. 
 
 "Don't do it, old man," he said quickly. "I 
 can put you on to something. Let me give you a 
 boost now." He took a roll of bills from his 
 pocket and peeled off three tens. 
 
 52
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Hamilton's bony hand closed over the money 
 and for a moment he regarded Pound with a 
 dumb eloquence of gratitude. Indeed, when he 
 glanced down his eyes were misty. "All right, 
 Johnny," he said simply; "you'll find me right on 
 the job whenever you want me." 
 
 Now, the same signals which Pound sent to 
 Emma at Fremont would answer for Hamilton 
 at Hastings. It wouldn't hurt her game much if 
 Hamilton was playing it a little farther along the 
 line. It would be about like taking so much 
 money out of the air for Hamilton who would 
 naturally divide with him. That was the way it 
 had appeared to Pound at first blush. Yet by the 
 time he reached his modest boarding-house he 
 was very thoughtful. Emma had not only been 
 square with him, but she had brought him luck. 
 Next day he sent her a telegram, and when she 
 appeared in response to it he told her frankly 
 about Hamilton. This event made a deep im- 
 pression upon Emma, showing her where the 
 security of her position lay, and where the in- 
 security. 
 
 53
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Only three days later the Fremont manager 
 refused her trades. The game was up. 
 
 "They haven't caught on," she said, "but they 
 suspect something. They'll be firing Hamilton 
 out of the Hastings office next, or they'll be firing 
 you out of this office. It's up to us to make a new 
 move, Johnny." 
 
 Pound listened to her with a divided mind. He 
 was, in fact, much surprised. She had written 
 him the day before to meet her that afternoon 
 at the Paxton Hotel in time for dinner, and when 
 she stepped into the parlor he was really aston- 
 ished. For she was no longer dressed like a 
 nurse. He didn't know what the soft stuff of her 
 gown was, nor how it was made, but he knew it 
 was very becoming. Her hair was done differ- 
 ently, too in a classical sort of way that not only 
 matched her close little hat with black velvet 
 wings, but made her look younger and more pi- 
 quant. He had no suspicion of how outrageously 
 she had bullied the saleslady, the fitter, the 
 milliner and the hairdresser in order to achieve 
 this effect within a single day; but the effect was 
 
 54
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 not lost upon him. She had not meant that it 
 should be. As they walked down the dining-room 
 he saw a number of men turn and look after her. 
 
 "It's up to us to move, Johnny," she repeated, 
 as though she were quite unaware that she had 
 surprised him. "I tell you, we've been playing 
 the wrong end of this game the pickers' end. 
 That old geezer Rexford is making money right 
 alone in spite of the way we skin him. Up there 
 at Fremont the suckers fairly fall over each other 
 to lose their spare cash. We want that end of 
 the game. We've got to have a bucketshop of 
 our own." 
 
 Then she unfolded her plan, which was nothing 
 less than that Pound should induce Rexford him- 
 self to back them in the venture. 
 
 "That old hogl" Pound exclaimed incredu- 
 lously. By this time he found himself hating Mr. 
 Rexford very cordially. The bucketshop man's 
 recipe for dealing with subordinates was very sim- 
 ple. He just bullied them. Pound would have 
 found the situation unbearable but for the sweet 
 consolation that, while he took Rexford's insults 
 
 55
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 with one hand, he robbed him with the other. 
 
 Emma, however, persisted. Rexford was then 
 making money in his bucketshop, she urged, so 
 he must think well of bucketshops generally; 
 Pound had kept on the right side of him and could 
 get still closer to that side. "You can work him 
 all right, Johnny," she urged confidently. "You 
 say yourself he's a fathead, and what are fatheads 
 for but to be worked? I'll tackle him myself 1 
 Just introduce me to him as a widow who's anx- 
 ious to invest her life-insurance money to good ad- 
 vantage. I'll bet I can bring him over." 
 
 The suggestion was repugnant to Pound in a 
 way he would not have expected the day before. 
 He was acquainted with Mr. Rexford's reputation 
 for a sort of gutter gallantry. He suspected that 
 this dusky, vivid person at whom men glanced 
 over their shoulders could persuade Rexford; but 
 the idea of her doing so was disagreeable. It 
 evoked, in fact, something like jealousy. 
 
 "I'll tackle him myself," he said briefly. 
 
 Mr. Rexford was then fifty-five years old a 
 heavy, mussy, fussy person, addicted to wide 
 
 56
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 slouch hats, long frock coats and low vests that 
 displayed a good deal of linen which was no bet- 
 ter than it should have been. He was nearly bald 
 and carried a roll of fat on the back of his neck. 
 He was always lumbering about the office, with an 
 eye to economy, getting himself into a stew over 
 trifles. He was naturally suspicious, yet very 
 conceited therefore grossly open to flattery. 
 Pound took his time in working up to the pro- 
 posal. 
 
 He could borrow five thousand dollars from his 
 uncle, he told his employer, and they would form a 
 separate company to operate in some different 
 field, he putting in five thousand and taking a quar- 
 ter interest, while Mr. Rexford put in fifteen thou- 
 sand and took a three-quarter interest. Mr. Rex- 
 ford, who by that time thought very well of his 
 excessively deferential telegraph operator, lis- 
 tened tolerantly to the proposal. 
 
 They had called Hamilton in from Hastings, 
 for it wouldn't do to take any chance of Rexford 
 getting suspicious at that stage. Thus a difficulty 
 confronted them. Pound was agreeing to put in 
 
 57
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 five thousand dollars; but they had only thirty- 
 seven hundred, out of which Emma and Hamilton 
 must live until the new concern got started. They 
 were rather confident, however, that they could 
 bluff it through at the last moment. 
 
 While the negotiations were going on, Emma 
 decided to run back to Chicago. She could live 
 cheaply there, she said, and she had nothing to 
 do in Omaha. Pound was rather loath to have 
 her go. As she had been unemployed of late they 
 had, naturally, seen a good deal of each other 
 dining together, going to the theatre and so on. 
 She was good company. He felt that he would 
 be sort of lonesome without her. 
 
 Three weeks later, at Chicago, she received a 
 telegram from him, and took the first train for St. 
 Paul. He met her at the station, and the moment 
 she saw him her eyes lit up. In the first place, he 
 had shaved off his beard. That made him look 
 younger and revealed a strong, well-modeled chin 
 and humorous mouth which fairly redeemed his 
 big nose and bushy eyebrows. In the next place, 
 he was very well dressed, and that further im- 
 
 58
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 proved his appearance. She rather guessed why 
 he had done these things. Then, he strode along 
 the platform with his chin up like a man who not 
 only knew his way, but proposed to take it. "I've 
 made a winner of him, too 1" she thought. 
 
 In the snug intimacy of the cab he twinkled at 
 her a moment, and even grinned a little, like a 
 man in high good humor. It made her almost 
 ready to laugh herself, for she had seen him in 
 high good humor before. 
 
 "Well," he began genially, "we've had a high 
 old time. You see, I'd been licking Rexford's 
 boots for a month, abjectly deferring to him in 
 everything, going around him with my hat in my 
 hand, and I thought I'd quite won the old hog's 
 heart. I thought he regarded me as a favorite 
 son and would almost hand over his bank account 
 if I asked for it. Then, just after you left, he 
 told me he'd decided to have his brother-in-law, 
 Mr. Moxley, take hold with me in managing the 
 new concern naturally, so as to make sure I 
 didn't steal anything!" 
 
 He tipped back his head and laughed with 
 59
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 much relish but little noise. "Of course, coming 
 from papa, that was quite a jolt to me, but all I 
 could say was that I thought it would be just the 
 thing. This fellow Moxley is about sixty a very 
 dignified old boy. He has beautiful, iron-gray 
 side whiskers and glittering false teeth and a head 
 like a cigar-sign Indian. He knows just two 
 things to stroke his whiskers when he wants to 
 look thoughtful, and to show his false teeth when 
 he wants to look friendly. Well, Brother Mox- 
 ley and I came up here and decided on this loca- 
 tion, and everything went swimmingly. I rented 
 an office, and the deal was all ready to close up." 
 He put his hand to his face and muffled a laugh 
 behind it. "You see," he went on, "I had left the 
 legal details to Rexford getting the company 
 incorporated and so on. He proposed to call it 
 the Moxley Stock and Grain Company, which 
 was as good a name as any other. So we were 
 ready to start the thing going, and Rexford came 
 up here with his lawyer. That was Tuesday. 
 We got together and then I sprung my little joker. 
 
 I told Rexford I was very sorry, but my uncle had 
 
 60
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 sent on only thirty-five hundred dollars, saying 
 he would send the rest in a fortnight, so I would 
 just turn in thirty-five hundred in cash and my 
 note for the other fifteen hundred. I expected 
 there would be a row over that, but to my sur- 
 prise Rexford said it would be entirely satisfac- 
 tory to him." 
 
 He stopped to laugh again, drawing his heavy 
 eyebrows together as though the joke really hurt 
 him. "And then," he continued, "Rexford sprung 
 his little joker. He said he'd been hard hit at 
 Omaha, which was a grotesque lie, and could put 
 in only four thousand dollars in cash at the mo- 
 ment; but he would give his note for the other 
 eleven thousand. I'd played right into his hand; 
 he was giving me back my own cardl I guess I 
 turned three shades of green; but I couldn't do 
 a thing except grin and take my own medicine. 
 So, the capital of the company consists of seventy- 
 five hundred dollars in cash and my note for 
 fifteen hundred and Rexford's note for eleven 
 thousand. But, you see, Rexford has three-quar- 
 ters of the stock and I only one-quarter. So he 
 
 61
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 could outvote me at every turn. And he calmly 
 proceeded to elect Moxley president of the com- 
 pany at a salary of three hundred dollars a month, 
 and me secretary at a salary of one hundred dol- 
 lars. Also, he adopted a set of by-laws which put 
 all the money absolutely under the control of the 
 president. I can't sign a check for a postage 
 stamp. And I had to sit there like a bear tied to 
 a stake and grin and take it!" 
 
 Pound's merriment fairly passed control. He 
 tipped back his head, shaking with laughter. 
 "There's right where Rexford puts me off, you 
 see!" he gasped. "That's my wages for licking 
 his boots! He's got the game all framed up to 
 suit himself! He's thrown me down at every turn 
 and got me safely sewed up in a sack and then, 
 you see, he's gone back to Omaha and left a pair 
 of side-whiskers and a set of false teeth to keep 
 me sewed up !" 
 
 She saw the point instantly, and restrained an 
 impulse to throw her arms around his neck from 
 pure joy in the joke. Bending toward him, her 
 
 eyes sparkling, she laughed and put her tongue 
 
 62
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 to her teeth in a manner sometimes used by chil- 
 dren to indicate derision. Pound wiped his eyes, 
 sobering, and went on with the explanation: 
 
 "We've decided to open only two outside offices 
 at first, as we're rather short of cash. They're 
 to be run ostensibly as independent concerns on 
 Rexford's old plan, and I've agreed to handle 
 the quotations from here to save an operator's 
 salary, you know." He grinned broadly. "That 
 really charmed Mr. Moxley. I've already worked 
 Hamilton in to run the Long Falls office. He 
 agreed to do it for only eighteen dollars a week, 
 and that charmed economical Mr. Moxley, too. 
 Moxley himself has picked out a man to run the 
 Wyandotte office a cheap and more or less 
 chuckleheaded man named Brown. With you at 
 Wyandotte listening to the wire, and Hamilton 
 running the Long Falls office, and me handing the 
 quotations here, we'll see how long it takes us to 
 trim Brother Moxley's whiskers. You might ex- 
 cuse a couple of really bright men for trying to 
 do you up; but for a fat old slob and a wooden 
 Indian to try it is humiliating. I'm anxious to 
 
 63
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 get at 'em." Emma perceived that he was, in 
 fact, hungry to begin his profitable revenge. 
 
 The career of the Moxley Stock and Grain 
 Company, however, was rather longer than 
 Pound had expected. As soon as the Wyandotte 
 and Long Falls offices were open the usual flock 
 of suckers appeared to play the market. If they 
 dealt in stocks they almost invariably bought 
 that is, bet that stocks would rise. But if they 
 dealt in wheat they often sold that is, bet that 
 wheat would fall for that neighborhood had just 
 gathered a large harvest. The stock market was 
 falling, so four-fifths of all the money that out- 
 siders pushed across the counter at Wyandotte 
 and Long Falls to bet on stocks remained with 
 the company. But the wheat market occasion- 
 ally fell, too, so sometimes an outsider won on 
 that. 
 
 Pound, in his eagerness for revenge and his 
 utter contempt of Moxley, played a crude game. 
 He would hold back quotations on a stock until 
 it had fallen over a point; then flash Emma 
 and Hamilton a signal to sell. Sometimes, if the 
 
 64
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 stock rose a little after they had sold, thereby 
 diminishing their gains, he would send in a per- 
 fectly bogus quotation. Emma protested that he 
 was going too fast. Often she would sell only a 
 hundred shares when he wanted her to sell two or 
 three hundred. 
 
 At Wyandotte these larcenous transactions had 
 an appearance of regularity, for they were made 
 by Emma, who seemed to be a mere outside specu- 
 lator. But at Long Falls Hamilton had no con- 
 federate. He made the bogus deals himself under 
 the name of a dummy, and Hamilton had no 
 conservative scruples against stealing the money 
 as fast as Pound wanted him to. 
 
 At the end of ten days, in spite of Pound's gross 
 manipulation, the Moxley Stock and Grain Com- 
 pany was still on its legs thanks partly to the 
 money that the suckers handed in. It was very 
 near the end of its bankroll, however. Pound 
 proposed to wind it up. So he wrote Emma and 
 Hamilton that they must buy or sell five hundred 
 shares on every signal. The next morning he 
 received this letter from Emma: 
 
 65
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Got your letter, but didn't make a 
 trade today. This shebang has only 
 eight hundred dollars left in the bank, 
 and if it settled with what few outside 
 customers have won it wouldn't have 
 much of anything. I know, you see, for 
 I've sort of got next the boy who keeps 
 the books. I'm nervous. A fat old boy 
 has been rubbering around here all day. 
 Don't like him. Never did like pork. 
 Looks to me as though he was too thick 
 with the manager here Moxley's man, 
 you remember. I'm suspicious. Let's 
 go slow a bit. 
 
 Pound read the letter at breakfast and was 
 angry. He had put over a couple of big ones the 
 day before. If Emma had played them he 
 thought the concern would be about broke by 
 now. But here she had been holding off be- 
 cause she saw a fat man ! In his vexation he im- 
 puted this to the constitutional weakness of her 
 sex. His own mind was not set precautionary- 
 wise, but in a quite opposite direction. 
 
 As it happened, the market hung in a balance 
 that forenoon. There was no chance to make 
 a good, sure trade. This further annoyed Pound. 
 
 A little after one o'clock a telegram from Emma, 
 
 66
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 sent over the public wire, was handed him. It 
 read: 
 
 "Pork went to Long Falls on the night train." 
 
 Pork obviously meant the fat man; but why in 
 the world was the woman so exercised about him 
 that she had looked up his movements ? He won- 
 dered rather sarcastically, and then a sudden in- 
 tuition flashed the answer into his brain. A fat, 
 porcine man. It was Rexford! 
 
 The situation lay open before him as though 
 a curtain had rolled up. Stupid old Moxley 
 hadn't been so completely taken in, after all; he 
 had finally conceived a belated suspicion of some- 
 thing crooked; he had notified Rexford about 
 those ruinous short sales at Wyandotte and Long 
 Falls; Rexford had smelled the right mouse at 
 once and set out to investigate on the spot. 
 
 Now, at Wyandotte Rexford was at a disad- 
 vantage, for there the bogus transactions looked 
 regular, and Emma could be trusted not to give 
 herself away. But at Long Falls, where the man- 
 ager himself made the bogus deals under a dummy 
 
 67
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 name, the fraud was palpable. Anybody who got 
 hold of the books and then inquired for a non- 
 existent "G. W. Jones" could detect it. And 
 Hamilton was a weaker vessel than Emma. 
 
 Dropping the telegram, Pound reached to his 
 key, called the operator at Long Falls and asked 
 for Hamilton. The operator replied that Ham- 
 ilton had just stepped out. Pound gently bit his 
 lip. "Have him call me as soon as he comes in," 
 he wired. An anxious quarter of an hour passed. 
 Having heard nothing, Pound called again, and 
 again was told that Hamilton was out. 
 
 Wyandotte and Long Falls, he knew, were 
 only about thirty-five miles apart. Probably a 
 telephone connected them, or there might be a 
 train soon. He wrote a message to go to Emma 
 over the public wires : 
 
 Pork patriotism Rexford. Put ham 
 on. Books basalt ignite. Accelerate. 
 
 They had, in fact, no cipher for the public wire, 
 but he knew she had wit enough to interpret his 
 message as he meant it: "The fat man is Rex- 
 ford; warn Hamilton; tell him to burn the books; 
 
 68
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 be swift." He signed it "First National," which 
 was as good a name as any other. 
 
 That message to Emma was at least an anchor 
 to the windward. Fifteen minutes later he again 
 called for Hamilton, but Hamilton was still out. 
 Then a very distressing suspicion rose in Pound's 
 mind. Now, Hamilton himself was a telegraph 
 operator and a good fellow; among telegraph 
 operators there is a sort of free-masonry; no 
 doubt this operator at Long Falls would do his 
 best to shield Hamilton if he needed shielding. 
 Pound began sending imperative questions to the 
 operator, which the operator evaded or parried. 
 Pound's apprehension and anger steadily rose. 
 At length he sent: "I've known Pete Hamilton 
 for years; he's one of my best friends; I'm re- 
 sponsible for him and for that office. I want you 
 to answer point blank whether he's been drinking 
 today. If you don't answer in one minute and 
 answer right I'll fire you on the spot and close the 
 office." 
 
 The answer came promptly: "Guess Ham's 
 been taking something, but he's out working with
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 a man that he thinks is going to make a good 
 customer." 
 
 And to Pound's demand for a description of 
 the man the operator replied: "Fat, fifty to sixty 
 years old; bald, puffy face; wears long, greasy 
 frock coat; has roll of fat in back of neck." 
 
 "Leave your key. Go out and find Ham. 
 Bring him in," Pound directed. He knew that, 
 even as his own nervous fingers rattled the little 
 black button, the operator at Long Falls was 
 reading the message; yet a sense of the awful 
 hundred and ten miles which stretched between 
 them lay upon him like a nightmare. 
 
 Only a minute passed, however, before the 
 operator sent : "Ham and the man are here. Do 
 you want to talk to him?" Another minute 
 passed, then the instrument spoke in a different 
 voice. "Hello, old man; what you want?" it 
 clicked off. To Pound's expert ear the voice ran 
 its sound together fairly hiccoughed and slob- 
 bered. It was Hamilton, and Hamilton was very 
 drunk. Pound knew it as well as though he had 
 
 seen him staggering. 
 
 70
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 There was a situation Hamilton hopelessly 
 drunk, and Rexford at his elbow 1 
 
 Pound didn't know whether or not Rexford 
 could read the wire; but he knew the psychology 
 of intoxication one might as well lean on a 
 shadow as depend upon Hamilton in this state for 
 anything. His heart sort of broke. He wired 
 merely: "You shouldn't leave the office this way. 
 You're tight, old man. Be very, very careful." 
 When he finished sending the message his brow 
 and the backs of his hands were moist with per- 
 spiration. 
 
 Three months before, in a less desperate case, 
 he would have thought of flight. The idea did 
 occur to him remotely now. More than half the 
 profits which the confederates had drained from 
 the Wyandotte and Long Falls offices had been 
 forwarded to him. He could draw nearly five 
 thousand dollars from the bank and skip. But 
 he was a bolder man now. His fingers almost 
 touched the stake he was playing for, and that 
 inspired him. He didn't propose to run like a dog 
 and be hunted like a dog. He hated porcine Rex-
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 ford out of all proportion to any cause he had for 
 hatred. He was chock full of a dogged rage to 
 play the game out with the fat man. He hadn't 
 heard from Emma. Very likely she was on her 
 way to Long Falls brave as a weasel. 
 
 Leaving the office he looked up a timetable. 
 The first train he could get for Long Falls was an 
 accommodation leaving at half-past eight, reach- 
 ing there a quarter to one. But he saw that a 
 train passed through Wyandotte, going to Long 
 Falls, at a quarter to three that afternoon. Per- 
 haps Emma had taken it. There was nothing for 
 him to do but wait for the half-past-eight train. 
 
 When he got into the train he could hardly 
 make it feel true that only six hours had passed 
 since he heard from Long Falls. It seemed more 
 like six months. Now and then he was obsessed 
 by a notion that the train wasn't going at all; its 
 revolving wheels merely marked time. When it 
 should have been long past midnight it was only 
 ten minutes past nine. He couldn't read; could 
 only sit in the seat and suffer. Presently the moon 
 
 arose, and he stared out at the glimmering prairie 
 
 72
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 landscape, which seemed not so much to march 
 past the car window as to perform a slow, dizzy 
 waltz around it. 
 
 At length, the brakeman bustled through the 
 car, lantern in hand, and shouted "Wyandotte! 
 Wyandotte I" So they were that far at last! Only 
 an hour and twenty minutes more! The immi- 
 nence of the journey's end made his nerves ache. 
 And then it seemed as though they would never 
 leave Wyandotte. The train crew and depot men 
 pottered idiotically around the platform, where a 
 score of townspeople loafed. It seemed to Pound 
 that those loafing townspeople must have been 
 there from immemorial time, like figures carved 
 on an Egyptian temple. After a long, long 
 while he got a disagreeable impression, in spite 
 of the testimony of his watch, that they must have 
 passed Long Falls while he slept. 
 
 Finally the brakeman called it: "Long Falls! 
 Long Falls!" And, at the sound, Pound's ex- 
 cessive nervous agitation suddenly left him. He 
 could fairly feel the quivering little fibers in his 
 arms and breast settle and grow firm. Stepping 
 
 73,
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 out of the train he surveyed the station calmly 
 a large, barnlike building, painted red. It oc- 
 curred to him there was rather a large crowd for 
 a country railroad station at one o'clock. He 
 looked it over coolly, but saw no familiar face. 
 He had provided himself with the name of the 
 leading hotel; so now he gave his bag to the bus 
 driver, saying he would walk. He felt cramped, 
 he explained casually, from sitting in the 
 train. 
 
 Soon, up the moonlit street, he saw quite a 
 crowd two or three score men standing at the 
 curb and on the cement sidewalk. In front of 
 tfiem was a wide gap in the row of buildings. 
 For merely an instant he wondered what they 
 were doing. Then he saw that a broad, bluish 
 mist rose steadily in the gap, floating up into the 
 opalescent air, and his eye caught the glow of live 
 embers. His heart gave a big leap. 
 
 Half a dozen men loitered in front of the hotel, 
 looking up and across the street to the smoky gap. 
 He paused beside them. 
 
 "Yes, sir," one of them was saying, "if there'd 
 74
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 'a' been a good south wind it'd 'a' swep' the whole 
 block sure!" 
 
 "What burned?" Pound inquired, like a cas- 
 ually-interested stranger. 
 
 "Two frame buildings," the man replied; "bar- 
 ber-shop in one and the new stock exchange in 
 the other." 
 
 "Ah," said Pound casually. His presence as a 
 stranger checked the talk for a moment. 
 
 Then a stumpy man who was slowly twisting 
 a chin whisker and chewing tobacco observed 
 knowingly: "Looks to me like it was spontaneous 
 
 combustion the two-legged kind.'* Evidently 
 
 he wished to make an impression upon the 
 stranger and unfold his theories anew. But 
 Pound turned calmly to the hotel door. 
 
 As he stepped forward his eyes fell upon a man 
 at the side of the doorway, leaning against the 
 wall of the building a very slouchy, lank sort of 
 man, with a stubble of sandy beard over his hun- 
 gry-looking face. The man was chewing tobacco 
 and whittling a stick. As their eyes met, Pound 
 experienced a subtle, indefinable sort of shock. 
 
 75
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 The man's look was so intent, so personal and so 
 hungry that it vaguely reminded Pound of a wolf 
 just ready to bite ; also, it occurred to him vaguely 
 that standing aloof and whittling a stick indicated 
 some mental disturbance. The impression did not 
 go deep, however. Pound stepped by and entered 
 the hotel.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE USUAL HAPPY ENDING 
 
 WHEN he stepped into the hotel Pound 
 had very little of plan. There was 
 very little within his knowledge upon 
 which to build one. He had an impression that 
 the man with the stick turned to look after him. 
 His bag, brought by the bus driver, already stood 
 on the floor of the hotel office in front of the desk. 
 Behind the desk a sleepy-looking young man re- 
 garded him with a bored expectancy, and mechan- 
 ically dipped the pen in ink for him to register. 
 
 Taking the pen, Pound glanced over his shoul- 
 der. The man with the stick certainly had turned 
 and was peering at him through the glass panel 
 of the door. Pound wrote coolly, "J. W. Smith, 
 Chicago." His eye ran up the page of the regis- 
 ter. Five lines above the name he had written he 
 saw, "Ellen White, Wyandotte," in Emma's 
 
 77
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 hand. He noted that her room was number sixty- 
 seven. Near the top of the page was "George 
 Glass, Omaha," in Rexford's clumsy scrawl. 
 
 He guessed that room sixty-seven would be on 
 the third floor, so he asked for a room in that 
 story. The upper floor was usually quieter, he 
 explained. The clerk put "71" opposite his name, 
 then came around and took up his bag to show 
 him the way. The single incandescent lamp in 
 the upper hall was set to burn dimly, yet it gave 
 rather more light than Pound cared for. As they 
 passed number sixty-seven he saw that it was dark 
 and still. 
 
 In his own room he waited a long time 
 namely, ten minutes by his watch. Then he 
 turned out the light, opened the door very care- 
 fully and tiptoed into the hall. His heart beat 
 fast, for in half a minute now he would know his 
 luck. He stole to number sixty-seven and tapped 
 very gently on the panel. No answer came, and 
 he tapped a little louder, listening with all his 
 ears. Then he gave a sigh of relief; luck was 
 with him; for from within came Emma's voice 
 
 78
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 saying, "In a minute." An electric button clicked 
 and light shone at the transom. 
 
 Her minute was mortally long, and he could 
 hardly keep from calling to her, for he expected 
 every instant some door would open, the clerk 
 would appear, and he would be put to the very 
 great inconvenience of having to explain himself. 
 He was nervous as a frightened cat by the time 
 the key turned in the lock, and when the door 
 opened he simply bolted in. 
 
 Emma sprang back, clutching to her throat the 
 wrapper which she had thrown on. She was quite 
 pale, and the sight of him seemed fairly to paral- 
 yze her. Her eyes looked as though she saw a 
 ghost, and she gasped; then she gave a little, half 
 articulate cry. 
 
 "Johnny! Johnny!" she whispered, reaching 
 out both hands. Even when he was well in the 
 room she clung to his hands, or, releasing the left 
 one, softly patted the back of the right. He had 
 never before seen her pale and unnerved. It 
 affected him strongly. He read her story pretty 
 well before she spoke. 
 
 79
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 There was only one chair in the room. She 
 placed that for him near the foot of the bed, upon 
 which she sat, talking to him across the footboard. 
 She whispered, for the partitions were thin. 
 
 "Hamilton was drunk," she said. "Rexford 
 had him in tow. I couldn't get near him, and it 
 wouldn't have done any good if I could. He had 
 the keys to the office in his pocket. About seven 
 o'clock Rexford and he got in a carriage and 
 drove away. It was out of the question for me 
 to get inside the office and get the books that 
 way." 
 
 "I see," he whispered back. He was thinking, 
 "What a game for her to go up against all 
 alone!" 
 
 "I had to do it early," she whispered on, "be- 
 cause the moon would be coming up. And Rex- 
 ford might come back with the keys any minute 
 and get the books. I hadn't time to be careful." 
 Her lips quivered a little, as if she suffered bodily 
 pain. "They've got me, Johnny! A man in the 
 alley saw me coming away; I ran right into him." 
 
 At her brave despair the man's heart was con- 
 So
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 stricted. It was his fight even more than her own, 
 and she had been fighting it alone. He bent for- 
 ward and took her hand compassionately. "Oh, 
 probably he was stupid, or drunk," he suggested 
 aloud. 
 
 She shook her head. "He saw me too plain. 
 And I didn't have time to be careful. I went into 
 two drug stores and bought gasoline told 'em I 
 wanted to clean a dress. They've got me. When 
 you rapped at the door I thought they'd come for 
 me." Her voice sank to a mere bodiless murmur. 
 "I hate it, Johnny I" She folded her arms on the 
 footboard and buried her face in them a game 
 creature shot through and through. 
 
 Her hair was roughly combed and done in a 
 thick braid that hung down her back. In that 
 pose she looked weak, even girlish. The man 
 bent far forward and threw an arm over her 
 bowed shoulders. 
 
 "We'll pull out of it! I'll stand by you, part- 
 ner, till the cows come home," he said under his 
 breath, with passion. 
 
 She shivered a little against his shoulder for 
 8 1
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 a moment. "You're a good fellow, Johnny," she 
 whispered; "but there's no use your doing your- 
 self up for nothing." She glanced up into his 
 face with an uncertain smile; then disengaged 
 herself without effort. 
 
 "Rexford will know in a minute that somebody 
 set it afire," she said. "It oughtn't to take him 
 long to find out who it was. You see, it won't 
 do either of us any good for you to be caught 
 here." 
 
 He saw that plainly enough. His presence 
 would be merely another link in the chain of evi- 
 dence. Nevertheless, he was in no hurry to go. 
 
 "It's half past one," he said, low, looking at 
 his watch. 
 
 They heard a stir in the next room, as of a 
 wakeful person threshing in bed or rising. She 
 laid her hand tightly on his arm. For several 
 minutes they fairly held their breaths, listening 
 intently, staring at the thin partition as though a 
 denunciatory witness might step through it. 
 
 It helped him to feel the peril of their position. 
 
 They were like rats in a trap which even their 
 
 82
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 own light breaths might spring. As he felt the 
 peril he silently raged against it. After what 
 seemed a long time he bent over and whispered in 
 her ear: "Do you know when the next train goes 
 east?" 
 
 "Ten minutes before three," she whispered 
 back. 
 
 "We'll try for it," he said with a nod. There 
 was nothing else to do. Every moment that he 
 stayed in her room was dangerous. To attempt 
 leaving the hotel without a plausible excuse was 
 dangerous. He tiptoed to the door, she follow- 
 ing. On the way she noiselessly turned off the 
 light. As noiselessly she opened the door and 
 peered into the hall. He hated to leave her like 
 that to be taken, perhaps, in a few minutes, 
 while he sat helplessly by. Her hand on the lapel 
 of his coat made him bend his head. 
 
 "If they come for me, Johnny, don't show 
 yourself," she whispered. 
 
 That was, of course, sound strategy however 
 much it looked like cowardice. He was going to 
 say something back, but thought better of it, and 
 
 83
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 stole to his own room. What he had been going 
 to say was: "If they get you, Emma, I'll kill 
 Hamilton." He really meant it he was so help- 
 less; she had been so game; his own role looked 
 so craven ; and all the trouble came about through 
 the sottish dog whom he had taken from the ditch. 
 He found the chair in his room, lifted it close to 
 the door with infinite caution and sat down where 
 he could hear the least sound in the hall. 
 
 He hadn't much faith in their getting away. 
 Rexford must guess instantly what had happened, 
 and she had left a plain trail. He waited, ex- 
 pecting every moment to hear a step on the stair, 
 a summons at Emma's door. From time to time 
 he tiptoed to the window, held the curtain aside 
 and looked at his watch. He listened there, too, 
 for any sound from outside. Once a horse clat- 
 tered down the street, and once he heard several 
 men passing on the sidewalk, talking. But they 
 did not stop. The town seemed asleep. As the 
 time wore on the imminence of another crisis 
 tightened up his nerves. At twenty minutes past 
 two he left his room and walked down stairs. He 
 
 84
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 walked right along, like a man who had nothing 
 to conceal, but took care to let his feet fall noise- 
 lessly on the matting. 
 
 A hall ran through the lower floor of the hotel, 
 the dining-room on the right, the office and parlor 
 on the left. Opposite the foot of the stairs a 
 broad door opened into the office. So far as 
 Pound could see, standing on the lowest step, the 
 office was empty. Certainly it was perfectly still. 
 Somehow, that very stillness seemed to contain a 
 warning. He slipped quickly around the newel- 
 post, went silently down the hall and into the dim 
 parlor. There, through the arched doorway, he 
 had a full view of the office from the rear. The 
 night clerk was stretched out in two armchairs, 
 his head tipped back and his mouth open, asleep. 
 Humped in another armchair sat the man with 
 the stick. The man's chair was so placed that he 
 could see whoever entered the hotel either by the 
 office door or the hall door. He wasn't whittling 
 now. Indeed, he was so motionless huddled in 
 the chair, his tattered hat pulled over his brows 
 that he, too, might have been asleep. But as 
 
 85
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Pound watched he turned his head and spat 
 silently into the cuspidor. Evidently he was broad 
 awake and still chewing tobacco. Having spat, 
 the man raised his head quickly like an animal 
 whose nostrils take a suspicious scent. Pound 
 dodged back just in time. He knew that the man 
 had felt a presence and looked around a good, 
 intent hunter! 
 
 Pound waited a moment, then stole back to the 
 hall and took stock of it. There was a door at 
 the rear as well as at the front. He tiptoed down 
 and cautiously tried the knob, satisfying himself 
 that the rear door was unlocked. He didn't ven- 
 ture to open it, but there must be some way from 
 the back yard into the street. 
 
 Fifteen minutes later he came down the stairs 
 again, bag in hand, taking as much care now to 
 make noise as he had taken before to be still. He 
 seemed, indeed, in bad humor. The clerk was 
 awake then, and the bus was backing up to the 
 door. 
 
 "I'm going to dig out. I can't get to sleep. 
 
 Some damned thing or other keeps making a 
 
 86
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 noise," the guest declared. He spoke loudly, 
 glowering, like a man who wanted to start a row. 
 The clerk patiently shrugged his shouldefs and 
 made the right change as Pound, paying the bill, 
 complained ill-naturedly of his nerves, of the 
 noise, of the weather, of the railroad. The man 
 with the stick regarded this unreasonable guest 
 with merely impersonal curiosity. There was one 
 other passenger in the bus, half asleep. Pound 
 huddled himself misanthropically in the farther 
 corner. 
 
 When they reached the station it wanted ten 
 minutes of train-time. Three passengers besides 
 himself and his companion in the bus were waiting 
 on the platform, but Rexford was not there. 
 Walking up and down, Pound kept looking off to 
 the right for one deeper shade in the shadows of 
 the scattered little buildings. He asked himself, 
 nervously, whether anything could have happened 
 to her on the way. Possibly, after all, there was 
 no exit from the back yard of the hotel to the 
 street. As soon as the train pulled in he sprang 
 aboard, crossed the car platform and looked 
 
 87
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 along the other side. Then he saw her climbing 
 up the step of the next car and hurried to meet 
 her. 
 
 "It was a shame to beat the hotel out of your 
 bill," he chuckled as he sat down beside her. The 
 train was already in motion. They were getting 
 away. 
 
 "My friend is still there, you know," she re- 
 minded him. From his description of the man 
 with the stick she had recognized the person who 
 had seen her leaving the bucketshop just as the 
 fire broke out into whose arms she had fairly 
 run. Both of them surmised that he had traced 
 her to the hotel. They rather suspected that he 
 proposed to get some blood-money out of it. 
 Pound reflected that if he had known earlier who 
 the man was he might himself have dealt with 
 him on a blood-money basis, and he wondered 
 whether he hadn't made a mistake in not staying 
 over and trying it. 
 
 Of course, they had got away; but it took their 
 train more than four hours to reach St. Paul, and 
 it would take a telegram less than four seconds 
 
 88
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 to intercept them anywhere on the way. Rex- 
 ford was by no means out of trumps yet. That 
 fact was very present to their minds. Emma re- 
 clined in the car seat, leaning her head against 
 its back, looking steadily ahead through lowered 
 lashes. 
 
 They passed the second way-station. Wyan- 
 dotte was next from which she had set out twelve 
 hours before, at his call, to fight his fight. He 
 kaned over abruptly. 
 
 "We're going to make it! We'll beat 'em 
 out!" he declared with conviction. He felt, in 
 a measure, out in the open where at least he could 
 put in a few strokes for both of them. 
 
 Without moving her head, smiling a little 
 humbly, she looked at him. "Do you think so, 
 Johnny? Do you think I can get away? You 
 don't know how I hate it a prison." She said 
 it quite simply. Someway, it brought her back 
 as she had looked when she folded her arms on 
 the footboard of the bed and bowed her head, the 
 thick braid of hair down her back. "It's good of 
 you to stand for me, anyway; I'll never forget 
 
 89
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 that," she added humbly, and put out her hand. 
 
 He felt immensely indebted to her. She had 
 made the fight his fight single-handed, in spite 
 of the odds. From the moment he spoke to her 
 in the hotel room it had been evident that she 
 expected nothing except to take her punishment, 
 strictly according to the rules of the game, while 
 he got off free. It was almost as though he had 
 stood by and seen her beaten down, rolled in the 
 dust. The dark eyes that looked up at him were 
 the eyes of a woman. At least since that evening 
 in the Omaha hotel when he saw her differently 
 dressed, her hair done differently, he had really 
 been acutely aware of her as a woman a rounder, 
 softer, desirable creature, possessing solacing 
 charms. He felt her now, acutely, as a woman, 
 beaten down and rolled in the dust in his cause, 
 but quite expecting he would let her take her own 
 luck, however bad it might be, while he took his 
 luck, however good it might be. 
 
 But he could not have it that way. He wasn't 
 that sort. He caught her hand, with passion. 
 
 "Emma, are you free? Will you marry me to- 
 
 90
 
 day?" he demanded, bending toward her, his 
 voice vehement, though low. 
 
 She studied him a moment, apparently with sur- 
 prise. Then she said quietly: "Yes, I'll marry 
 you, Johnny." She considered a moment and 
 added: "That's partly what I went back tq 
 Chicago for to get my divorce fixed up." 
 
 91
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 MR. REXFORD IS DISPOSED OF 
 
 THE sun had risen when they reached St. 
 Paul. They took breakfast together in 
 the station. Although they now felt tol- 
 erably safe they agreed that it would be well for 
 her to spend the day quietly at the small "family" 
 hotel where she stayed when she was there be- 
 fore. He saw her to the cab. 
 
 "Seven o'clock, then," he said as he held hen 
 hand. 
 
 "Seven o'clock," she repeated, smiling a little. 
 
 It occurred to him that it hadn't been much of 
 a betrothal first on the day coach of a railroad 
 train, then in the bustling station restaurant. 
 Nevertheless, his mind was warm. He felt that 
 he was redeeming himself from the ignominy 
 which her daring had somehow cast upon him, 
 and he kept thinking, enticingly, how she had 
 
 looked with the girlish braid down her back. 
 
 92
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 It was still early, and he walked leisurely to 
 the office, his mind pleasantly occupied. Mr. 
 Moxley, however, was down ahead of him. 
 Naturally, Pound feigned surprise when the pres- 
 ident told him the office at Long Falls had burned 
 during the night. Yet he didn't trouble himself 
 to appear very much excited about it, and pres- 
 ently he went into the private room to laugh over 
 the way Mr. Moxley kept tugging at his whiskers, 
 as though he expected to climb up his face, hand 
 over hand, on them. The president, in fact, was 
 in a sad state of excitement. He could hardly 
 control his voice, and from the way he glowered 
 tremulously at Pound the latter knew he regarded 
 him as no better than an abandoned villain. 
 
 One thing the secretary didn't like. He heard 
 nothing from Hamilton. The manager might, of 
 course, be sleeping off his debauch. Yet Pound 
 would have felt easier if he had received word 
 from him especially as toward noon he saw a 
 messenger boy go in to Mr. Moxley with a tele- 
 gram. The president kept mostly to himself in 
 the private room. The work of the office was 
 
 93
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 light, with Long Falls out of business. The day, 
 wore dully on. There was a train from Long 
 Falls at one-twenty. Pound rather expected Mr. 
 Rexford to appear in the office shortly after that 
 time. He did not appear, however, and that was 
 another thing the secretary didn't like. He would 
 rather have faced the old pig and had it out with 
 him. 
 
 He was not very apprehensive. He didn't 
 think Hamilton would really go back on him. 
 The incriminating books at Long Falls were 
 safely burned. Emma was safely hidden in St. 
 Paul. The losses of the Wyandotte and Long 
 Falls offices to Hamilton and Emma had been 
 paid excepting, possibly, those at Long Falls the 
 second day before. The money was in the bank 
 to his credit and Emma's and Hamilton's. He 
 felt rather secure, yet he would like to hear from 
 Hamilton; he would like Rexford to appear. 
 
 About half-past three the secretary prepared 
 leisurely to leave the office. Then Mr. Moxley 
 interposed. 
 
 "Mr. Roth," he said, looking very grave and 
 94
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 trying to keep his voice from quavering, "I wish 
 to see you here at five o'clock. I expect to have 
 a very important communication to make to you. 
 I am expecting," he added impressively, "a tele- 
 gram from Mr. Rexford." 
 
 "Five o'clock?" Pound replied calmly. "I'll 
 be here." 
 
 He walked out in a very pleasant frame of 
 mind. So Rexford was still at Long Falls ! Per- 
 haps, after all, he would have only poor old Mox- 
 ley to deal with. That idea made him smile. It 
 occurred to him that Hamilton, also, was at Long 
 Falls ; but he had a kind of instinctive faith that 
 Hamilton, while a weak vessel in some ways, was 
 going to stand by him in the showdown. His 
 first errand was at the marriage-license clerk's 
 office, where he gave his true name and where 
 there was some delay. Then he bought the even- 
 ing papers, dropped in at a rathskeller, and 
 looked them over while he drank a stein of beer. 
 'As he reentered the bucketshop promptly at five 
 o'clock his mind was still pleasantly disposed. 
 Mr. Moxley was waiting for him, and silently pre- 
 95
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 ceded him by a dozen feet into the private office. 
 
 This room was about twelve by fifteen feet. A 
 small rolltop desk in the corner and an office table 
 nearly filled it. At the upper right-hand corner 
 of the table sat Mr. Rexford. At his right hand, 
 about midway of that side of the table, sat a 
 stocky stranger. Mr. Moxley was slipping hur- 
 riedly into a chair at the lower corner on the same 
 side. At the upper left-hand corner, across from 
 Mr. Moxley, sat Hamilton, gazing thoughtfully 
 at the opposite wall. The only vacant chair was 
 at the lower corner on Hamilton's side, across 
 from Mr. Moxley. 
 
 Pound comprehended instantly that the scene 
 had been carefully set, so that the length of the 
 table should divide himself and Hamilton, while 
 both of them would be always under the eyes of 
 the other three. In the same quick, almost me- 
 chanical way his eye took in the stranger a 
 heavy-set, middle-aged man with a close-clipped, 
 iron-gray mustache, indifferently yet decently 
 dressed. He might be a country lawyer or a 
 country sheriff. 
 
 96
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Yet Pound was not thinking of him, nor of the 
 arrangement of the room. He had hardly looked 
 at Hamilton ; but the lank, round-shouldered man 
 completely filled his mind. It appeared as though 
 Hamilton had sold him out, and his thought was 
 almost pleasantly murderous. 
 
 "Good-afternoon, gentlemen," he said quietly, 
 but in a voice so low that it barely carried the 
 length of the room. He took the vacant chair 
 that had been placed for him. Whatever the 
 game was, he must play it out. 
 
 For a moment Rexford glowered malevolently 
 along the table at him. Then he said : "I Ve come 
 to settle up with you, Roth. I guess we can settle 
 fast enough." 
 
 The secretary's steady eyes noted that Mr. 
 Rexford seemed physically ill. His fat face was 
 a nasty, tallowy white; his eyes were bloodshot; 
 his puffy hands, resting on the table, trembled 
 slightly; his upper lip, lifting a little from the big 
 yellow teeth, reminded Pound of a snarling dog. 
 The secretary surmised that while the president 
 strove to appear insultingly cool he was inwardly 
 
 91
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 boiling with wrath. He even spoke with a certain 
 laboriousness, as though he were short of breath. 
 "I know just what you've been up to, you d d 
 thief," Mr. Rexford continued with labored cool- 
 ness. "If Moxley hadn't been a pin-headed idiot 
 he'd have got on to you ten days ago." At this 
 compliment Mr. Moxley looked miserably at the 
 table and worried his whiskers. Pound was con- 
 sidering whether he should pick up the inkstand 
 and hurl it at Rexford's head. He judged, how- 
 ever, that it would be better to let the insult pass 
 for the moment. "Anybody but a fool," Rexford 
 labored on, "would have known those short trades 
 at Wyandotte and Long Falls were bogus. Do 
 you suppose I'd 'a' stood for 'em a minute? Do 
 you think you could 'a' stuffed me with 'em as 
 though those jays out there in the tall grass would 
 be selling five hundred shares at a clip and catch- 
 ing the market right every time eh ? You might 
 as well 'a' put your hand in my pocket and taken 
 my watch! A daylight robber! A sneak thief, 
 I'd better call it!" As he went on his rage 
 got the upper hand; his voice rose to a shout; 
 
 98
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 he glared, and struck the table with his fist. It 
 occurred to Pound that Rexford wanted to pro- 
 voke him into starting a row so, although he 
 rather lost color, he sat perfectly still, steadily 
 eyeing his antagonist. 
 
 Mr. Rexford stopped abruptly, out of breath, 
 and put a tremulous hand up to his forehead. He 
 seemed, indeed, to be suffering physically. He 
 turned his head and called out in angry affliction: 
 "Moxley, get me a drink of water." 
 
 Pound found himself suddenly enlightened. He 
 understood those bloodshot eyes and tremulous 
 hands, that parched throat. Mr. Rexford had 
 been hoist with his own petard. In his anxiety 
 to get Hamilton sufficiently drunk he had got 
 drunk himself. The secretary laughed gently. 
 
 "You must have been drunk last night," he 
 observed pleasantly. 
 
 Rexford glared at him as though he were going 
 to bite or have a stroke of apoplexy. But Pound 
 was thinking that this explained their escape from 
 Long Falls. No doubt, while he and Emma sat 
 there in the hotel, like rats in a trap, and Rexford 
 
 99
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 might have crushed them with a motion of his 
 finger, that worthy was stretched out, senseless 
 and snoring. He laughed again much as the 
 Indian stoic taunts the enemies who have bound 
 him to a stake and are lighting the fire that will 
 consume him. 
 
 "That's why I couldn't get Hamilton on the 
 wire yesterday," he continued amiably. "You 
 and he were out getting drunk together. Why 
 don't you send out for an ice-pack to put on your 
 poor old head?" For a moment he thought the 
 capitalist was going to throw the glass at him, but 
 the capitalist managed to control himself. 
 
 "All right sneak thief firebug !" he panted. 
 "We'll see how you laugh when I get through with 
 you. You sent out phony quotations, and your 
 pals played 'em stealing my money. You dog! 
 And then you put your woman up to burning the 
 Long Falls office last night eh? Burning the 
 office eh? What does that come to, Captain? 
 What's the penalty for an incendiary?" He ad- 
 dressed the question to the stranger at his right. 
 
 The stranger looked forbiddingly at Pound a 
 100
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 moment and replied : "In this state it's anywhere 
 from three to fifteen years in the penitentiary." 
 
 "Eh? Three to fifteen years in the peniten- 
 tiary !" Rexford crowed. "Trust an officer of the 
 law to know what the penalty is ! And for the ac- 
 cessory, remember, just the same as for the prin- 
 cipal!" At that turn, evidently, Mr. Rexford 
 was quite enjoying himself. 
 
 Pound turned a shade paler. His dulled eyes 
 held steadily to Rexford's grinning face. With- 
 out exactly seeing him he was perfectly aware that 
 Hamilton sat staring at the wall, just as he had 
 been doing ever since the meeting began his lean 
 hands resting on the table and fiddling nervously 
 with the stump of a lead-pencil. 
 
 "Your woman was a lobster, if you want to 
 know eh?" Rexford went on. "She was caught 
 red-handed. If you want to know, a fellow 
 named Tatroe chambermaid in a livery stable 
 saw her turn the trick eh? And Tatroe was 
 waiting at the hotel to tell me and Pete Hamilton 
 all about it. Ain't that so, Pete?" the capitalist 
 
 bawled. 
 
 101
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 "That's so, Roth," said Pete solemnly. He 
 turned his head, looked Pound in the eye a bare 
 second, then looked back at the wall. For an 
 instant the look vaguely puzzled Pound, but the 
 whole power of his mind was concentrated upon 
 the pig at the head of the table as though the 
 two had grappled bodily and were straining every 
 muscle for a throw. 
 
 "And what's more, if you want to know," Rex- 
 ford went on, "Tatroe identified her the minute 
 he saw her again. And what's more, she's under 
 lock and key this minute. She's going to the pen- 
 itentiary, you dog, and you're going with her! 
 Ask the captain here. Ask Hamilton eh?" 
 
 "She's been identified," said the captain for- 
 biddingly. "She's safe in our hands. She won't 
 get away." 
 
 Pound, however, scarcely heard him. He re- 
 membered now that Hamilton had once gone with 
 him to see Emma at her little hotel. That same 
 hotel would, then, have been the first place to 
 which Hamilton would have led them; they would 
 
 easily have found Emma there. He had turned 
 
 102
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 quite white. Although his will struggled in a 
 blind sort of way he couldn't, to save him, sum- 
 mon up more than half a wit with which to meet 
 this situation. The greater part of his mind was 
 occupied with the upper right-hand drawer in 
 the small desk and the loaded revolver that lay 
 therein. It seemed as though he could not 
 breathe or live again until he had stepped over 
 to the drawer, picked up the revolver and scat- 
 tered Hamilton's brains. His hands gripped the 
 arms of the chair. He labored painfully. 
 
 "The penitentiary, you dog, for both of you," 
 Rexford repeated after a moment. "Ask the 
 captain." 
 
 Pound actually felt himself going over to the 
 drawer, and then he felt himself still gripping 
 the arms of the chair. No one spoke for another 
 moment. 
 
 Then the stranger, whom Rexford called "Cap- 
 tain," bent his head, looking at Pound from under 
 his eyebrows, and observed distinctly: "You un- 
 derstand, sir, that after I have served the war- 
 rant there can be no talk of compromise. You 
 
 103
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 will be in the hands of the law then, and the law 
 must take its course." 
 
 Pound's turgid mind caught the word "com- 
 promise." He might have known that Rexford 
 was after money. "What do you want?" he de- 
 manded harshly. 
 
 "What do I want, you sneak thief?" Rexford 
 replied almost genially. "You've done this con- 
 cern out of ten thousand dollars. Hand it over 
 to me, and then I'll consider what to do with you." 
 
 "I haven't got ten thousand," Pound an- 
 swered. 
 
 At that Hamilton put his hand to his bushy 
 mustache and coughed slightly but kept on star- 
 ing at the wall. 
 
 "Prove it to me," said Rexford peremptorily. 
 "I'll take what you've got if it's enough." 
 
 It meant, of course, going out stripped to the 
 bone. But then, they had Emma. Pound strug- 
 gled with it a moment. He hated it like death; 
 but there was the loaded pistol at his head. 
 
 At that juncture some words sounded in his ear 
 just as though somebody had spoken them 
 
 104
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 aloud and it came to him that he had heard the 
 same message a moment before. The words 
 were : "Sit tight." Hamilton was softly ticking 
 them off with the point of his pencil against the 
 table. 
 
 For a moment the secretary did not move a 
 muscle, but sat impassive, slowly refilling his 
 empty body with life. In the pause the words 
 came again: "Sit tight." He straightened up in the 
 chair then and coughed from which, he thought, 
 Hamilton would know that he had heard. 
 
 "What would you consider a fair settlement?" 
 he asked rather coolly. At least, he could gain 
 time. 
 
 His comparative coolness evidently exasperated 
 Mr. Rexford. "Fair settlement!" he roared. 
 "Fair settlement with a thief and incendiary! A 
 fair settlement would be to send you and your 
 woman to the pen. I don't know but I'll do it any- 
 how. I wouldn't mind losing a few thousand to 
 see you breaking stone. Pete Hamilton," he 
 demanded, "how much did they lift out of your 
 
 office?" 
 
 105
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Thus directly questioned, Hamilton replied 
 mildly: "Why, I don't know any amount, Mr. 
 Rexford. As I told you this morning, I just had 
 my suspicions. I'm an honest telegraph operator, 
 Mr. Rexford, and never did a crooked thing in 
 my life." 
 
 "But you know about the woman. You told me 
 so yourself," Rexford shouted in a passion. 
 
 "Yes, sir," Hamilton replied mildly; "I know 
 about the woman, just as I told you. Of course, 
 I'm sort of new at this business, and I didn't have 
 any suspicions about her until last night, when you 
 explained things. This woman, I found out, came 
 to town the same day I did and got a job as a wait- 
 ress in the hotel dining-room. I'd noticed her be- 
 cause she was sort of good-looking about twenty- 
 five, I judge, with a neat figure and dark com- 
 plexion. I noticed her all the more because she 
 looked a little like a woman I met here in St. Paul 
 a while ago. I believe, true's I'm alive, that that 
 fellow, George W. Smith, who sold short so much 
 and just about busted the office, was in cahoots 
 with her. And the minute that man Tatroe told 
 
 1 06
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 us about seeing the woman running away from the 
 fire, I suspected her. So when we showed her to 
 Tatroe he identified her right away. Your law- 
 yer here" he dwelt a little on the word, looking 
 at the stranger "will tell you she yelled like a 
 wildcat when he told her she could take her 
 choice between staying locked up in his office or 
 going to jail." 
 
 The stranger colored slightly and seemed some- 
 what annoyed. Mr. Rexford seemed annoyed. 
 As for Pound, he put his hand over his mouth and 
 bit his tongue to keep from laughing. He strug- 
 gled a moment. Then he said: 
 
 "Mr. Rexford, this is a serious case. You've 
 caught my female accomplice red-handed. This 
 legal luminary from Long Falls is all ready to 
 arrest me and send me to the penitentiary. So, 
 I'm ready to compromise. I'll tell you what I'll 
 do. I'll trade you the waitress for your stock in 
 the company. I guess one is worth about as much 
 as the other." 
 
 At this surprising speech Mr. Rexford's mouth 
 
 opened and his thick lips protruded, while the 
 
 107
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 veins swelled up disagreeably on his bald head. 
 But he said nothing. He seemed, in fact, para- 
 lyzed. The stranger bent his head and looked 
 menacingly at the secretary. Mr. Moxley looked 
 frightened. Then Pound could hold in no 
 longer. He tipped back his head and roared. 
 Through it all, Hamilton stared at the opposite 
 wall. 
 
 Rexford was dumfounded. Two minutes be- 
 fore Pound had been white, whipped to a finish, 
 ready to give up everything. The change was in- 
 comprehensible. Nothing had happened except 
 Hamilton's speech. 
 
 "You've thrown me down !" Rexford yelled at 
 that person. 
 
 "Me, Mr. Rexford?" Hamilton expostulated 
 in mild surprise. "I'm an honest telegraph opera- 
 tor and never did a crooked thing in my life. 
 Why, Captain Grimes himself will tell you that 
 Tatroe identified the woman as soon as he saw 
 her." 
 
 The skill of Hamilton's intervention fairly in- 
 toxicated Pound. He could just see the lank man,
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 sober and penitent, returning to the hotel with 
 Rexford, there to find Tatroe with his description 
 of a dark, trim female incendiary. Of course, 
 Hamilton had guessed Emma and instantly 
 thought of the waitress who somewhat resembled 
 her. Tatroe, in his eagerness for the reward, had 
 identified the waitress which would rather spoil 
 any identification of Emma if he should attempt 
 one. 
 
 Rexford raged on for a while. Captain Grimes 
 tried various bluffs. But it was increasingly evi- 
 dent to both of them that their weapons had some- 
 how fallen to pieces in their hands. Finally, 
 Pound looked wearily at his watch. 
 
 "I have an engagement at seven," he said. 
 "I'll make you just one proposition. This she- 
 bang is practically busted as it stands. To get rid 
 of you, I'll give you a thousand dollars for your 
 stock. I'm giving you more than I should, be- 
 cause Captain Grimes will have to pay the wait- 
 ress or she'll sue him for damages. You can have 
 two minutes to accept my offer." 
 
 Rexford raged again, but finally he accepted 
 109
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 the offer. He lingered a little as the others were 
 leaving the office. 
 
 "You're a thieving dog, Roth," he said as a final 
 expression of the baffled wrath which consumed 
 him. 
 
 In the last quarter of an hour since the fight 
 had been practically won a great physical and 
 nervous weariness had been growing upon Pound. 
 He had been without sleep the night before, and 
 under a heavy strain for more than thirty hours. 
 He felt lax as an empty sack, and he regarded the 
 capitalist with dull eyes. It wasn't Rexford's in- 
 sult that annoyed him; it was Rexford himself 
 obese, dirty, thievish, standing there in the way, 
 glowering disagreeably. 
 
 Mr. Rexford had spoken over his shoulder, his 
 back partly to Pound; and Pound felt too com- 
 pletely tired to reply otherwise than by taking 
 a quick step forward and projecting his left foot 
 with vigor. The powerful kick sent Rexford 
 stumbling forward and made his fat undulate like 
 shaken jelly. He uttered a scream, turned and 
 
 made a wild pass at Pound which fell short. Mr. 
 
 no
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Moxley, just outside the open door, stood para- 
 lyzed, with popping eyes. 
 
 "Come, cornel" said Pound, irritably, as one 
 speaks to an obstreperous child. "Do you want 
 me to kick you all the way out? Move along." 
 
 Mr. Rexford gave an inarticulate sputter, his 
 flabby face contorted. But he moved. Pound 
 heard him sputtering to Mr. Moxley as the two 
 hurried away. He stepped over and shut the 
 door. It came to him vaguely that the place was 
 his now; but he was hardly interested in that. 
 
 The clock showed twenty minutes to seven. He 
 had told Emma he would call for her at seven, 
 and they were due at the minister's at a quarter 
 past seven. He had calculated on getting an early 
 dinner, shaving and changing his clothes. Evi- 
 dently there was no time for that. He went out- 
 side and called a cab. Settling back in the vehicle 
 he realized again how fearfully tired he was, and 
 a profound reaction came upon him. 
 
 He was about to be married, and the lady who 
 would soon become his bride was a crook a rob- 
 ber and an incendiary. He was not delicate, yet 
 
 in
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 as he stared dully through the cab window without 
 seeing anything, in his deep reaction, a forgotten 
 dream constricted his tired heart something 
 about womanly innocence and grace ; about a crea- 
 ture pure and tender, touched with divinity. His 
 chin sank to his breast. He seemed to under- 
 stand then that for some time she had been mean- 
 ing to marry him, and that she had managed it as 
 she managed everything else. 
 
 Apparently he had won. At any rate Rexford 
 was beaten, and the bucketshop was his ; yet in his 
 lax mood a mocking prevision of failure pervaded 
 him. He seemed to see himself, at the end, com- 
 ing out a mere sucker and gull, as in the past. A 
 strip of color, across his coat lapel, obtruded upon 
 his blank and downcast eye. Half mechanically 
 he put his hand up to it. His cravat was untied. 
 Evidently Rexford's wild pass had unloosened it. 
 With fumbling fingers he retied it, and then re- 
 membered that there was a stubble of beard on 
 his face. He gave a helpless, contemptuous puff 
 of laughter, and muttered aloud, "What a hell of 
 a way to get married 1" 
 
 112
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 HOW THE WIRE NET SPREAD 
 
 THE marriage ceremony which united John 
 Pound and Emma Raymond was per- 
 formed in the shabby parlor of the minis- 
 ter's flat, the minister's fleshy wife and spinsterly, 
 anaemic daughter being the only witnesses. 
 
 The minister himself had ceased practising his 
 calling except upon some incidental occasions like 
 this, where a fee was to be gained. Otherwise he 
 was trying, without much success, to do something 
 in the real estate and insurance line. For these 
 occasions he put on a long black frock coat, and 
 
 covered the shiny dome of his head with a skull 
 cap. He was bandy-legged. This combination 
 
 dully irritated the bridegroom. Pound felt as 
 stupid as though he had taken a drug, and a wit- 
 less sort of disgust with everything. He was 
 secretly humiliated because his business suit and
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 unshaven face so little became his role, while 
 Emma wore a very pretty dinner gown and her 
 hair was done in the classical way that made her 
 look freshest and most piquant. 
 
 His mind was so little collected that he hardly 
 followed the brief ceremony. Abruptly he heard 
 the minister say: "I pronounce you man and 
 wife." The pause that followed brought him up 
 with a panicky sense that something or other was 
 expected of him, and he just saved himself from 
 blurting out idiotically: "Thank you." But he 
 felt Emma's hand touching his wrist. She was 
 looking as a bride should demure and charming. 
 He caught the cue, so to speak. Much embar- 
 rassed, he stooped hastily and kissed her. 
 
 He felt that he must have appeared like an ass, 
 so he thrust a twenty-dollar bill in the minister's 
 hand, with an illogical notion that he was thereby 
 getting even with him. Also, going down the 
 stairs he consoled himself for his own inferior 
 appearance by reflecting maliciously that Emma 
 was up to the part because she had been through 
 
 it before. The truth is that, in his general dissat- 
 
 114
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 isfaction, he had a very stupid inclination to quar- 
 rel. When the carriage door closed upon them 
 he addressed his wife for the first time, saying 
 quite crossly: "I'm hungry as a bear." 
 
 Emma read his state of mind like an open book. 
 She knew his nerves were frayed, and quite com- 
 prehended that reaction which made him dis- 
 gusted with everything, herself included. So she 
 said cheerfully: "All right, Johnny. We'll drive 
 uptown and have a swell feed." In a moment she 
 added quite as cheerfully: "We might take Ham 
 along; have a real party. Would you like to?" 
 He smiled a little in a shamefaced way, secretly 
 acknowledging that she was the better fellow of 
 the two. 
 
 They did pick Hamilton up at his hotel. 
 Emma managed the dinner, and the little party 
 was a complete success. At the end of the second 
 bottle of champagne Pound was not only genial, 
 but admired his clever wife so much that he was 
 fairly falling in love with her. She had a special 
 gift of managing some people. 
 
 The next day was Saturday. Naturally, Pound 
 
 Us
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 was busy at the bucketshop which had just come 
 into his possession. But Sunday the bride and 
 groom might freely devote to each other. 
 
 Accordingly, directly after breakfast, they drew 
 up side by side at the small, round-topped center 
 table in the parlor of the little suite at the family 
 hotel which Emma had engaged for their tempo- 
 rary occupancy. Before them a railroad folder 
 containing a large colored map of the Northwest 
 was outspread, and a stout, blackbound volume, 
 entitled Report of the Comptroller of the Cur- 
 rency, lay at the edge of the table. 
 
 With these articles they began their honey- 
 moon. They followed the red line of the railroad 
 along the map, and looked up the towns in the 
 report to see how much ready cash each possessed. 
 Presently Hamilton joined them. 
 
 "What I want," said Pound with authority, "is 
 the nice country towns of twenty-five hundred in- 
 habitants up to five thousand or so; towns with 
 a couple of hundred thousand dollars of bank 
 deposits and from that up to a million just nice, 
 
 fat, fresh little country centers that have never 
 
 116
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 had a stock wire in 'em." He pronounced the 
 words, very much as a hungry gormand might 
 speak of fine, plump, hand-fed young pig, roasted 
 to a beautiful, tender brown, with pan gravy and 
 new apple-sauce and mealy baked sweet potatoes, 
 "You see, this whole country was broke all 
 through the hard times." He swept his hand 
 over the map. "For three or four years nobody 
 had any money. Then, the last two years, money 
 has been piling up. Everybody's got some. You 
 know if a man's been half starved to death he 
 must be fed a while before he gets back his appe- 
 tite. They've just fairly got their appetite back. 
 And in the last two years there's been a tremen- 
 dous rise in stocks; millionaires have been grow- 
 ing on bushes. The newspapers have been full of 
 it. You can bet these people out here" he laid 
 his hand on the map "have been reading all 
 about it. They know the way to get rich fast is 
 to buy stocks. But they haven't had a chance to 
 get into the game. There's never been a wire 
 anywhere near 'em. To their minds the stock ex- 
 change is a kind of paradise away off on the other 
 
 117
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 side of the world. When we open up a fine little 
 stock exchange right at hand, so they can drop in 
 on the way to the post-office, you bet they'll drop. 
 We want to plant one in every good town from 
 here to the coast." 
 
 Hamilton had been tugging at his bushy red 
 mustache thoughtfully. "Don't see how you're 
 going to make it with a bank roll of eight thou- 
 sand, old man," he observed, with good humor. 
 "It takes money to start the game; and every town 
 you open takes that much more." 
 
 "A little more," Pound assented. "We've got 
 to reach every branch office with our own private 
 wire, and that's what takes the money. The only 
 capital a bucketshop needs is just wire. If the 
 telegraph company would give me credit I'd cover 
 the country with bucketshops on a hundred-dollar 
 bill. Unfortunately it won't. Here's the deal: 
 For a private wire, the company charges us twenty 
 dollars a year on each mile of wire. When they 
 have a wire already strung that they can lease us, 
 they make us pay only a month's rent in advance. 
 
 But where they have to build a new wire, as they 
 
 118
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 will here, they make us plank down six months' 
 rent in advance ten dollars spot cash for every 
 mile of wire. For every town where they put in 
 a drop from our wire to our office they charge us 
 forty-two dollars a month. Here in St. Paul we 
 have to pay 'em thirty-five dollars a week for our 
 drop from the C. N. D. wire over which we get the 
 New "York Stock Exchange quotations direct, and 
 twelve dollars a week for a ticker. But the big 
 item is that ten dollars a mile for the new wire. 
 We've already got a hundred miles of wire. I 
 figure we can get right away three hundred miles 
 more. That will take three thousand dollars." 
 
 "That," said Hamilton, "leaves you only five 
 thousand dollars out of your eight. And every 
 place where you open an office you've got to have 
 a bank roll to start with." 
 
 "Why?" Pound inquired. "Our business is 
 taking bets on stocks and grain. Our customers 
 the fellows that make the bets put up money 
 on every bet; but we don't put up any, do we? 
 Not at all. So we'll just let our customers furnish 
 us our working capital. John Smith, of Wyan- 
 
 119
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 dotte, thinks Union Pacific will go up. So he 
 comes into our office and buys a hundred shares 
 that is, he bets with us that the stock will rise. 
 We make John put up a cash margin of two dol- 
 lars a share, or two hundred dollars on the trade. 
 We don't put up a cent. Multiply John by a 
 hundred, and we've got twenty thousand dollars 
 cash in hand. If John loses, as we hope, we keep 
 the twenty thousand. If all the Johns should win 
 at once, the best we could do would be to hand 
 them back their own twenty thousand. But John 
 won't win. He never does. 
 
 "I haven't," Pound continued, smiling good- 
 naturedly, "been figuring out ways to beat a buck- 
 etshop the last six months without getting some 
 ideas about the business. Nobody is going to put 
 over crooked quotations on me the way we put 
 'em over on Rexford. Every order that's handed 
 into a branch office will be wired to the main office 
 here in St. Paul and confirmed here before it is 
 filled. More than that, all the margin money is 
 going to be wired to the main office every day. I 
 propose to have the game in my own hands." 
 
 120
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Emma smiled slightly. Her dark, intelligent 
 eyes rested upon her husband with approval. 
 Nevertheless, her heart was a little sore. She 
 noticed that he now spoke of the venture with 
 authority, as though it were his own individual 
 affair although certainly she had borne no slight 
 share in nursing it up to its present stature. She 
 had always instinctively believed in Pound's 
 power, even when he was a mere under-doggy 
 telegraph operator at eighty dollars a month. It 
 now occurred to her that, perhaps, he was going 
 to be more powerful than she had supposed so 
 powerful that a helpmate would be rather super- 
 fluous to him. 
 
 Thoughtfully surveying the map, he seemed, 
 indeed, a very efficient, confident kind of person. 
 "Here's where our game lies," he said, laying his 
 hand on the highly-colored surface. "And here's 
 where I want you, Ham out in the country open- 
 ing up these branch offices, getting the game 
 started." Gazing thoughtfully down at the green, 
 blue and yellow spaces that represented great 
 states, he fairly saw endless grain fields, countless 
 
 121
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 herds, many thriving rural centers, each with its 
 well-stored little bank. The vision captivated his 
 mind. "There's a million dollars of loose cash 
 out there this minute just waiting to be taken in," 
 he said almost solemnly. 
 
 Monday morning of the week following this 
 conversation, Hamilton and a chubby, swarthy tel- 
 egraph operator named Brewer dropped off the 
 west-bound train at Bremen. It was a thrifty 
 town of three thousand inhabitants, lying in a fat, 
 rolling, sparsely-wooded prairie. Little Turtle 
 River wound sluggishly along the west border be- 
 tween a thin fringe of trees. A large frame grist 
 mill painted yellow stood on the bank of the river. 
 There were two tall, red grain elevators near the 
 railroad track; two banks, two hotels. A number 
 of the frame dwellings were so new that the 
 shingles fairly shone in the sun. It appeared very 
 good to Hamilton, who carried, besides his suit 
 case, a long, odd-looking roll of stout cloth. 
 
 The task before the travelers was quite simple. 
 While Hamilton strolled about looking for a 
 
 suitable office, Brewer drifted down to the rail- 
 
 122
 
 road station, introduced himself to the telegraph 
 operator as a fellow-craftsman, explained that 
 they were about to open a stock exchange, with a 
 private wire from St. Paul, and proceeded to es- 
 tablish friendly relations. What he really wanted 
 was to find out whether anybody thereabouts was 
 given to speculating in grain or stocks. Of 
 course, the operator, who handled the messages, 
 would know. 
 
 Before noon Hamilton had rented an office 
 above a millinery shop in a small frame building 
 on East Street. It consisted of a single bare room 
 about twenty feet square. A room of the same 
 size at the rear the two comprising the whole 
 upper story was occupied by a justice of the 
 peace, insurance agent, conveyance, notary public 
 and real-estate dealer all covered by the same 
 well-worn alpaca office jacket. The rent was 
 twelve dollars a month. 
 
 "George Lewis is our man," said Brewer when 
 the two met at the Bremen House for the midday 
 meal. "He takes a flyer in grain every now and 
 
 then. Sends his orders to Chappell in Minnea- 
 
 123
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 polls. Seems he owns a farm a few miles out 
 mortgaged up to the hilt but stays in town most 
 of the time buying hogs to ship; quite a sporty 
 farmer plays poker just well enough to lose ; but 
 knows everybody and is popular." 
 
 "That sounds like it," Hamilton commented. 
 "Fetch him up to the office about two o'clock." 
 
 After the midday dinner Hamilton walked 
 across the street to the neat two-story brick build- 
 ing of the First National Bank. He noted that 
 institution's shiny plate-glass windows, tile floor, 
 polished oak counter and neat brass wickets for 
 the cashier and the teller all, as he mentally com- 
 mented with approval, very nobby and prosper- 
 ous-looking. 
 
 "Mr. Miles?" he inquired amiably of the young 
 sandy man behind the cashier's wicket having 
 got his description from the hotel clerk. He laid 
 down his card : 
 
 MOXLEY STOCK AND GRAIN COMPANY 
 
 P. F. HAMILTON 
 
 GENERAI AGENT 
 
 124
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 "I believe your correspondent in St. Paul is the 
 Norse National Bank," he continued having 
 looked that up in a bankers' directory. "We are 
 about to open a stock and grain commission office 
 here in Bremen, Mr. Miles, with our own private 
 wire from St. Paul. We expect to do considerable 
 banking business and will give you the account if 
 we can make satisfactory terms." 
 
 To the rear of the banking office proper was a 
 small room with the sign "President" over its 
 door. A middle-aged man in his shirt sleeves, 
 with hair prematurely gray and face prematurely 
 wrinkled, now stepped to the door which led from 
 this room to the space behind the counter. Evi- 
 dently he had overheard, for he regarded Ham- 
 ilton with lackluster and suspicious blue eyes. 
 This, as Hamilton knew from the hotel clerk's 
 description, was Mr. Barlow, the president of the 
 bank. The young cashier looked around at his 
 superior inquiringly, and Mr. Barlow came de- 
 liberately up to the counter with the air of a man 
 who has been invited to buy a gold brick which 
 shows broad patches of cast iron where the gilding 
 
 125
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 has worn off. He picked up Hamilton's card 
 frigidly. 
 
 "When's your private wire going to be in 
 here?" he inquired very dryly. 
 
 "The telegraph company promises us to have 
 it in here by noon tomorrow," Hamilton replied 
 promptly. "They're stringing it as fast as possi- 
 ble." 
 
 This answer seemed to surprise Mr. Barlow. 
 He regarded Hamilton closely a moment, but the 
 latter's face was bland and open. "What arrange- 
 ments do you want to make?" the banker asked a 
 little less ungraciously. 
 
 "First," said Hamilton amiably, "I want some 
 advice from you. You see, we put the local office 
 entirely in the hands of some well-known local 
 man. That's the best guaranty we can possibly 
 give that the business is absolutely on the square. 
 Now, for manager of this office Mr. George 
 Lewis has been recommended to us. You can 
 understand it's very important to us to pick 
 the right sort of man. What do you think of 
 Lewis?" 
 
 126
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 That the office was to be managed by a local 
 man seemed to surprise Mr. Barlow still more. 
 "Why, Lewis is pretty deep in debt," he replied 
 for the first time addressing Hamilton as one 
 of the fraternity of business men. "He's slow 
 pay. But I always considered him honest." 
 
 "That's all I want to know," said Hamilton 
 heartily. "If a man's honest we'll take our 
 chances on everything else. Now, our arrange- 
 ment is just this: As our customers here give 
 Mr. Lewis orders to buy or sell stocks and grain 
 they will put in his hands the money to margin the 
 trades. Every day, or perhaps several times 
 a day, Mr. Lewis will deposit that margin money 
 in your bank, and you will immediately transfer 
 it by telegraph to the Norse National Bank in 
 St. Paul for our credit. Or if Mr. Lewis should 
 need at any time to pay out here more than he 
 has received, he will wire us, we will deposit the 
 money with the Norse National, which will trans- 
 fer it by telegraph to you and you will then pay 
 it over to Mr. Lewis. We, of course, will pay 
 all telegraph charges, and we will allow you an 
 
 127
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 exchange fee of twenty-five cents for every hun- 
 dred dollars that you handle." 
 
 This was Pound's system. Under it all margin 
 money paid in at the local offices was immediately 
 transferred by wire to St. Paul. Thus the total 
 cash resources of the concern were constantly in 
 his own hands. Thus, also, the worst a local man- 
 ager could do would be to embezzle the receipts 
 of a single day. Pound was willing to take his 
 chances of that for the sake of having a man who 
 was well known in the community to manage each 
 local office. As Hamilton truly said, it impressed 
 the community with a sense of the company's good 
 faith as nothing else could. 
 
 Obviously there wasn't much in this arrange- 
 ment for the bank. It received merely a modest 
 exchange fee for transferring the money. But if 
 the First National didn't take the business on 
 those terms, probably the State Bank over on 
 West Street would. So Mr. Barlow took it. 
 
 Shortly after two o'clock Brewer climbed the 
 stairs leading to the office over the millinery shop 
 
 accompanied by a man in the grime of life, whose 
 
 128
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 portly figure suggested good cheer in spite of the 
 blue flannel shirt, baggy trousers and shapeless 
 coat that covered it. His round face was lighted 
 by a pair of merry blue eyes and adorned with a 
 curly yellow beard. 
 
 They found Hamilton in his shirt sleeves stand- 
 ing on a kitchen chair. He had impressed Zeke, 
 the colored porter at the Bremen House, and the 
 two .were pasting that long roll of cloth to the 
 wall. The face of the cloth was painted black 
 and ruled in narrow, perpendicular columns. At 
 the top of each column were the code letters which 
 designated stocks as ACP, BO, UP, NP. At 
 one end was a space for grain quotations. 
 
 Besides this blackboard-cloth, the room now 
 contained six plain wooden chairs and a small 
 kitchen table, for which Hamilton had just paid 
 four dollars and seventy-five cents at the furniture 
 store across the way. He had also bought thirty 
 cents' worth of chalk at the drug store and paid 
 one month's rent in advance. Therefore, seven- 
 teen dollars and five cents constituted the Moxley ; 
 Stock and Grain Company's total investment in i 
 
 129
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Bremen. Naturally, the company expected 
 Bremen to invest far more than that with it. 
 
 Hamilton nodded genially. At the very first 
 glance he thoroughly approved of George Lewis. 
 "Just a minute," he said. "I never was much of 
 a wall decorator myself." Hopping down from 
 the chair, he wiped his pasty right hand on the 
 leg of his trousers and extended it to the prospec- 
 tive manager. They sat down comfortably and 
 Hamilton explained how simple the business was. 
 Mr. Lewis was to take charge of the office. For 
 example, a man came in and wanted to buy fifty 
 shares of Northern Pacific. Mr. Lewis would 
 require him to put up the usual cash margin of 
 two dollars a share and then hand the order to 
 Brewer, who would wire it to the main office. The 
 main office would confirm it, and that was all there 
 was to it. At the end of the day Mr. Lewis would' 
 take the man's hundred dollars and whatever 
 other margin money he had received over to the 
 bank. If Northern Pacific went up, and the man 
 wanted to draw out his winnings, and Mr. Lewis 
 didn't have enough money on hand, he would wire 
 
 130
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 the main office, which would wire out the money, 
 and Mr. Lewis would pay the man off. If any 
 technical points came up that Mr. Lewis was 
 doubtful about, Brewer could put him right, or 
 would wire the main office for instructions. On 
 every order the office charged a commission of 
 twenty-five cents a share. Mr. Lewis' compensa- 
 tion would consist of one-half of all the commis- 
 1 sions. If he got orders for only a hundred shares 
 a day, his compensation would be twelve dollars 
 and a half a day; if he got orders for a thousand 
 shares daily he would make one hundred and 
 twenty-five dollars a day. His profit, in short, 
 would depend simply upon his success in working 
 up trade for the bucketshop. 
 
 Listening attentively to Hamilton's explana- 
 tion, the prospective manager slipped a couple of 
 silver dollars back and forth between his chubby 
 fingers. 
 
 "When do you expect to have this private wire 
 working?" he inquired presently. 
 
 Hamilton assured him the wire would be in 
 town the next day, and this answer impressed
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 him as much as it had impressed' Mr. Barlow. 
 
 They discovered, in fact, that the private wire 
 was a trump card. That stock quotations made in 
 far off New York, and grain quotations from 
 Chicago, should be brought right there to 
 Bremen as fast as electricity could carry them 
 gave rise to quite exaggerated notions of the 
 power of the bucketshop. Indeed, in Bremen and 
 other towns, many customers innocently presumed 
 from this commonplace telegraphic phenomenon 
 that the little bucketshop must be essentially one 
 with the New York Stock Exchange and the 
 Chicago Board of Trade. 
 
 Before supper-time that day Brewer managed 
 to spend a sociable half hour with the local tele- 
 graph operator over a bottle of beer. He re- 
 turned to the hotel grinning. The operator told 
 him that Mr. Barlow had been down to the sta- 
 tion inquiring about that private wire; would be 
 satisfied with nothing less than official assurance 
 that the telegraph company was stringing a ver- 
 itable wire from St. Paul to Bremen for the use 
 
 of the Moxley Stock and Grain Company. 
 
 132
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 At this recital Hamilton pricked up his ears. 
 "H'm," he speculated, "so Brother Barlow's sort 
 of interested, is he? Brother Barlow's sort of 
 interested." Thoughtfully pulling at his bushy 
 mustache, he added, in a casual way: "Nice, fat 
 little bank he's got over there." 
 
 After supper Mr. Lewis dropped in, brimming 
 with his new managership, and they strolled down 
 the street to Joe Hartwick's Sample Room, where 
 acquaintance might be made. Already, it ap- 
 peared, news that Bremen was to have a stock 
 exchange with a real private wire from St. Paul 
 or Chicago or New York had more or less gone 
 abroad. Among the sporty habitues of the sam- 
 ple room, Hamilton and Barlow were as much 
 objects of curiosity as though they had been bring- 
 ing a circus and a faro bank to town. One of 
 the first persons to whom Lewis introduced the 
 general agent was Mr. S. Bloom, Jr. 
 
 Earlier in the day Hamilton's thrifty eye had 
 fallen upon the establishment of S. Bloom & Co. 
 dry-goods, clothing, hats, caps, boots, shoes- 
 occupying the first and second floors of the largest 
 
 133
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 brick building in town. The hotel clerk had told 
 him, indeed, that it was the largest brick building 
 in the county, and the same friendly informant 
 had pointed out S. Bloom, Sr. a short, round, 
 sad-looking man of fifty, whose dim eyes seemed 
 weary, and whose fat shoulders stooped as 
 though he bore heavy burdens. 
 
 Not the least of the burdens of S. Bloom, Sr., 
 was S. Bloom, Jr., whom Lewis and the others in 
 the sample room called Solly. He was a chubby, 
 debonair young man in loud clothes. A pearl of 
 size adorned his necktie, and on each hand he 
 wore a solitaire diamond ring. Hamilton knew 
 instantly that Solly was Bremen's leading sport. 
 To Hamilton he spoke familiarly of various re- 
 sorts of the sporty in St. Paul and Minneapolis, 
 and he took care early to let the general agent 
 know that he had been in New York in Wall 
 Street, and even in the Stock Exchange itself. In- 
 deed, as the sampling progressed he spoke in an 
 offhand, familiar way of Morgan, Rockefeller 
 and other potentates of the "Street." Hamilton 
 good-naturedly indulged Solly's innocent affecta- 
 
 134
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 tion of being on the inside. He judged that Solly 
 alone could be depended upon to pay the wire 
 rental and running expenses. 
 
 The next forenoon Hamilton went over to the 
 bank. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Barlow," said the general agent 
 from the threshold, as though he were merely 
 passing, "those linemen are slow. They're just 
 getting into town with our wire now. Guess it 
 will be too late to do any business today by the 
 time they get us connected up." 
 
 "Just getting into town, eh?" said Mr. Bar- 
 low. "Well, you can't hurry them big corpora- 
 tions. They take their own time. Come in." 
 
 The general agent sat down opposite the 
 banker. Presently, following Mr. Barlow's cau- 
 tious leads, he was vigorously expounding his 
 views of the stock market lugging in that wise- 
 sounding and easily-acquired patter of the trade 
 which any bright office boy can soon learn to reel 
 off by the yard. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Hamilton," Mr. Barlow said pres- 
 ently, looking the agent in the eye, "here's what 
 
 135
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 I'd like to have explained to me. Your concern 
 is a bucketshop." He pronounced the word 
 firmly, as though he defied contradiction. "You 
 don't really execute, on the Stock Exchange, the 
 orders you receive. If I buy a hundred shares of 
 Northern Pacific, you just put that order on your 
 books, and take the chances that Northern Pacific 
 will go down, and I'll lose my money. But if 
 Northern Pacific goes up, you lose; you have to 
 pay me whatever amount the stock advances. 
 Now, suppose a whole lot of people buy stocks 
 of you, and those stocks go up, as you say they're 
 bound to. That will let you in for a tremendous 
 loss. How can you stand it?" 
 
 Hamilton craned his neck to look into the 
 outer room, as though he feared they might be 
 overheard. 
 
 "The truth is, Mr. Barlow," he said strictly 
 between themselves "a bucketshop that's man- 
 aged properly is the safest thing in the world. In 
 the first place, about two-thirds of our orders just 
 cancel each other, because, while some buy, others 
 sell. You buy a hundred shares of Northern Pa- 
 
 136
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 cific; but Mr. Miles in there sells a hundred 
 shares. If you win, he loses; if he wins, you lose. 
 In one case we just hand your money over to him ; 
 in the other we simply hand his money over to 
 you. But we charge a commission of twenty-five 
 cents a share. We charge you twenty-five dollars 
 commission on the hundred shares you buy, and 
 we charge him twenty-five dollars commission on 
 the hundred shares he sells. So at the end of the 
 deal we're just fifty dollars ahead. Confidentially, 
 that's the way it works. Look at all the trades 
 on the New York Stock Exchange. Every time 
 one man buys another man must sell, or there 
 couldn't be any trade. That's why we want so 
 many branch offices, do you see? For, while 
 most of the people in one locality may be bullish, 
 most of them in another locality will be bearish. 
 But suppose we find we're getting overloaded on 
 one side or the other. Our books for example, 
 show at a certain time that our bullish customers 
 have bought fifty thousand shares of Northern 
 Pacific with us, while our bearish customers have 
 sold only thirty thousand shares. If Northern 
 
 137
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Pacific should go up we'd be let in for a big loss 
 on that uncovered twenty thousand shares. So 
 we simply hedge it that is, we send down to New 
 York and buy for our own account twenty thou- 
 sand shares of Northern Pacific on the Stock Ex- 
 change. A little figuring will show you that we 
 make our commission of twenty-five cents a 
 share on the thirty thousand shares that our cus- 
 tomers buy and the thirty thousand that they sell, 
 and as we've hedged the odd twenty thousand 
 shares we can't possibly lose enough to hurt us. 
 Between ourselves it's the surest business in the 
 world." 
 
 Later in the day, in relating this conversation 
 to Brewer who was perfectly well aware that 
 over nine-tenths of a bucketshop's country cus- 
 tomers invariably bought, or "went long," and 
 that a bucketshop almost never hedged Hamil- 
 ton observed: "And the sucker actually swallowed 
 that yarn, bait, hook and sinker. It's really these 
 wise boys, who think they know a lot, that make 
 the best picking." 
 
 The general agent's imaginative explanation 
 138
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 seemed, indeed, to resolve Mr. Barlow's doubts. 
 He began speaking discursively about the great 
 rise in stocks during the last two or three 
 years. 
 
 Presently, in a reminiscent sort of way that 
 was half-fond, half-sad, he remarked: "I know 
 a man cousin of my wife's, in fact. He was 
 doing a little chattel loan business down in Kan- 
 sas, Never seemed to me he had any great busi- 
 ness ability, either." He smiled deprecatingly. 
 "Well, sir, along in '98, somehow that fellow got 
 a notion of buying Atchison preferred; bought 
 it around twenty-five and hung on to it, and 
 doubled up. He sold out his Atchison a little 
 while ago around ninety; cleaned up ninety thou- 
 sand dollars. He and his wife's gone to Europe 
 now." Mr. Barlow smiled again, humbly con- 
 fessing his own comparative failure. 
 
 He then opened a drawer in his desk and took 
 out a well-filled box of prime five-cent cigars. 
 This was his extremest form of geniality. Ham- 
 ilton winced, but took one of the cigars and 
 lighted it, while Mr. Barlow lighted another, 
 
 139
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 leaned back and puffed deliberately. Thus, so to 
 speak, letting himself go, he inquired with a 
 rather incidental air: "What do you think about 
 this Amalgamated Copper?" 
 
 Hamilton had never thought anything about it 
 before; but he now discovered that he held an 
 extremely high opinion of it. 
 
 "Reason I ask," Mr. Barlow said, "is that a 
 friend of mine one of the bank's best customers 
 has been talking to me about it." He glanced 
 at the door and studied the end of his cigar; also, 
 he gently cleared his throat. "I wouldn't won- 
 der," he continued slowly, avoiding the general 
 agent's eye "I wouldn't wonder if he might buy 
 a little of it provided you could fix it for him 
 someway so's he could deal direct with the home 
 office. You see," he explained, "he's a particular 
 sort of man; very close-mouthed. He wouldn't 
 care to have George Lewis or anybody else know 
 what he was doing. Not that there's anything 
 wrong about it, you understand," said the banker, 
 in a louder and firmer tone; "only he kind of 
 likes to keep his business to himself; wouldn't 
 
 140
 
 THE 'LOSING GAME 
 
 want to take any chances of anybody gossiping 
 around town what he was doing." 
 
 "Nothing easier," Hamilton replied cheerfully, 
 looking Mr. Barlow's secretive friend genially in 
 the eye. "Here's our own telegraph operator 
 Mr. Brewer. He's a confidential man. You 
 could just have your friend tell you what he 
 wanted to buy, you see, and deposit the margin 
 money with you, and then Brewer would drop in 
 at the bank and you could give him the order arid 
 he'd wire it right to the main office." 
 
 In that later conversation with Brewer, Hamil- 
 ton explained this arrangement. "Be sure you 
 don't give it away, now," he cautioned. "We 
 don't land a bank president every day." 
 
 The general agent was in an exceedingly pleas- 
 ant frame of mind. He thought Bremen was 
 going to pan out handsomely. His eyes twinkled 
 as he thoughtfully worried the red mustache, 
 looking across the street at the neat structure of 
 the First National. "Fine little bank, Billy," he 
 commented genially. "You want to keep your eye 
 
 on it. Don't let anybody scratch up the bricks or 
 
 141
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 break the windows or bend the brass wickets. Be- 
 cause it's going to belong to us by-and-by, and we 
 want it handed over in first-class condition." 
 
 Hamilton spent several days in Bremen, then 
 proceeded to Cold Springs, Prairie Center and 
 Luperville. Into each of these thriving country 
 towns he carried a telegraph operator and a roll 
 of cloth for the office blackboard. He rented an 
 office, picked out a local manager, saw the private 
 wire installed, made acquaintances, got the game 
 fairly started, and then pushed on to a new 
 station. 
 
 Pound, in St. Paul, urged him along; was 
 actually hungry, it seemed, to span the earth with 
 his private wire and dot it with his branch offices. 
 
 Now, all this time indeed, all that winter and 
 far into ihe spring stocks continued, on the 
 whole, to rise. More than nine-tenths of the 
 country speculators who were drawn in by the 
 branch offices "went long" that is, bet that stocks 
 would rise. So, on the whole, they won pretty 
 steadily, and the bucketshop pretty steadily lost. 
 
 And to begin with, it had only eight thousand dol- 
 
 142
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 lars to lose, of which nearly half had been paid 
 over to the telegraph company for the private 
 wire. 
 
 "Let 'em win all they can," Pound said. "The 
 more they win, the better so long as they don't 
 draw out their winnings, but keep on putting them 
 back into the game. One of our cornfed bulls 
 buys twenty-five shares of something. It goes up 
 a couple of points, so he wins fifty dollars. But 
 he don't draw out the fifty. On the contrary, he 
 leaves it with us and digs up fifty more and buys 
 twice as many shares. Then he tells half a dozen 
 of his friends what luck he's having, and one or 
 two of them digs up fifty and buys something. 
 We keep taking in more money than we pay out, 
 and that's the only thing I care a rap about. 
 There's the sporty young Jew at Bremen that 
 Hamilton told us about. He's won eight hundred 
 dollars; but instead of drawing any out, he keeps 
 putting in fresh money, and he goes around brag- 
 ging how much he's won. That's the best sort of 
 an advertisement for us. That's the beauty of 
 this country trade. One of these days the market 
 
 143
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 will have a fine smash that will wipe 'em all out. 
 
 Acting on this theory, Pound began sending 
 out glowing market letters advising everybody to 
 buy stocks, and supplied the local managers with 
 bullish tips to distribute among their customers. 
 
 Emma helped. She had Hamilton collect for 
 her the names of two or three promising persons 
 in each town where they had a branch office. 
 Presently, each of these persons received a very 
 confidential letter signed by Emma Raymond, 
 whose address was a certain post-office box. The 
 writer explained that she was the personal stenog- 
 rapher of a gentleman of great wealth and 
 national fame who, from time to time, carried on 
 large stock-market operations in association with 
 the most powerful magnates of Wall Street. 
 Naturally, she often came into possession of ex- 
 ceedingly valuable foreknowledge of market 
 movements. She proposed to favor the addressee 
 with this advance information, her compensation 
 to consist of one-fifth of his winnings, as to the 
 due payment of which she would, of course, have 
 to depend solely upon his honor. 
 
 144
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Her first tip to Mr. Barlow brought results in 
 the form of an order from his mysterious friend 
 to buy another hundred shares of Copper. When 
 that stock had advanced two points Mr. Barlow 
 sent Emma a five-dollar bill. Solly Bloom, how- 
 ever, honorably sent her a check for forty dollars. 
 Indeed, this device not only brought additional 
 business to the bucketshop, but furnished Emma 
 with quite a bit of pin money, for she always ad- 
 vised her correspondents to buy. 
 
 In one respect, however, Pound became dissat- 
 isfied. His country offices were flourishing; but 
 he was getting very little city business there in 
 St. Paul. He set about to remedy that. 
 
 145
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 AN ENTERPRISE WITH MR. LANSING 
 
 LANSING & CO. were a grain commission 
 house of long standing and high reputa- 
 tion. Early in life Mr. Lansing had been 
 a school-teacher in Massachusetts, and he had 
 never, so to speak, been able to get over it. He 
 retained a neat Boston accent and exact manner 
 of speaking which contrasted oddly with the 
 broad, slipshod vernacular. A strange tradition 
 respecting him was in circulation namely, that he 
 put on evening dress at dinner-time even when 
 there were no guests in the house. He was a trim, 
 smallish man of fifty. His close-clipped side- 
 whiskers and mustache, marking a clean-cut area 
 on his ruddy face, looked as precise as an English 
 hedge on a smooth lawn. When he took his 
 eyeglasses between the thumb and forefinger of 
 each plump hand, adjusted them to the bridge 
 of his nose and laid the tiny black silk ribbon 
 
 146
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 which was attached to them over his right ear, 
 everybody else's manner of putting on eye-glasses 
 seemed vulgar. "He reminds me," said Pound 
 to his wife, "of a fresh-washed pet sheep, with a 
 shaved chin, in spectacles." 
 
 Accident threw Mr. Lansing in Pound's way. 
 Among the occasional patrons of the bucketshop's 
 branch office at Prairie Center was a grain dealer 
 who did business at St. Paul with Lansing & Co. 
 Once, being caught short of ready money at home, 
 he wired Lansing & Co. to make a small deposit 
 for his account with the Moxley Stock and Grain 
 Company. Whereupon Mr. Lansing wrote him a 
 personal letter, paternally remonstrating with him 
 for trading with a bucketshop. The grain dealer 
 handed this letter to the local manager at Prairie 
 Center, who forwarded it to Pound. 
 
 Pound then called upon Mr. Lansing with the 
 letter. He was very good-natured about it. The 
 Moxley Stock and Grain Company, he explained, 
 already had some four thousand customers in the 
 Northwest inadvertently multiplying the actual 
 number by about fifteen and was rapidly getting 
 
 147
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 more. Of course, if Mr. Lansing felt obliged to 
 go out of his way for the purpose of injuring 
 them, they should feel compelled to retaliate ; but 
 he hoped no such disagreeable necessity would 
 arise. 
 
 The fact that the Prairie Center man whom he 
 had advised in such a fatherly way promptly 
 turned his letter over to the condemned bucket- 
 shop was quite humiliating to Mr. Lansing. He 
 perceived that he had made a fool of himself, and 
 that Pound was taking the least possible advan- 
 tage of the fact. The two parted with mutual 
 politeness. 
 
 During this call Pound noticed that the office 
 of Lansing & Co. was provided with a stock 
 ticker, but had no blackboard upon which to post 
 stock quotations. He instantly guessed why, and 
 confirmed the guess, upon returning to his own 
 office, by ascertaining that Lansing & Co. were 
 not members of the New York Stock Exchange. 
 Not being members of the Exchange, they were 
 obliged to have their stock orders executed by 
 some person who was a member, and to pay over 
 
 148
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 to that person the whole commission. In short, 
 Lansing & Co. got not a penny of revenue from 
 stock orders. Naturally, they were not seeking 
 such orders. Yet the presence of the ticker 
 showed that some of their grain clients were 
 interested in stocks, and that Mr. Lansing felt 
 under obligations to execute stock orders for 
 them, although he derived no profit from it. This 
 gave Pound an idea. 
 
 In carrying out this idea he moved cautiously 
 and with deliberation. Three or four times he 
 dropped in and chatted amiably with Mr. Lan- 
 sing, who treated him with condescending good 
 nature. The point with Pound, however, was not 
 how Mr. Lansing treated him but how much he 
 swallowed of his casual remarks concerning the 
 magnitude of the bucketshop's operations. At 
 length he proposed to open a personal account 
 with Lansing & Co. and deal in grain through 
 them. He explained that he was obliged to do a 
 great deal of business on the Board of Trade by 
 way of hedging against the grain trades of the 
 
 patrons of the bucketshop. 
 
 149
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Mr. Lansing listened to the proposal with con- 
 flicting emotions. He prided himself upon his 
 "regularity" as a commission merchant, and it 
 was not strictly ethical for a "regular" house to 
 have any dealings with a bucketshop. That was 
 a good deal as though a quack proposed to hire 
 a regular physician to write prescriptions for him. 
 But if the quack personally were ill, the regular 
 physician would prescribe for him; and Pound 
 proposed to deal with Lansing & Co. merely as 
 an individual. He spoke offhand of large orders. 
 It meant a very snug little revenue, in commis- 
 sions, for Lansing & Co. 
 
 In truth, Mr. Lansing was dissatisfied. His 
 house was comparatively old, enjoyed high credit 
 and was in quite easy circumstances financially; 
 but it was not really rich. Mr. Lansing's per- 
 sonal expenses were large and he suffered the 
 humiliation of seeing younger, more boisterous 
 and vulgar concerns which certainly deserved 
 far less well of the community and of the world at 
 large outstrip him in the race for business and 
 
 profits. This was especially true of late, since 
 
 150
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 speculators had been turning so much to stocks. 
 Mr. Lansing had often anxiously debated whether 
 he should not buy a stock exchange membership 
 and go in for that trade. But a membership cost 
 sixty thousand dollars, and he didn't quite see 
 his way to tying up so much money. It was par- 
 ticularly hard, under these circumstances, to turn 
 away the profitable business which Pound offered 
 him. So he did not turn it away. 
 
 Yet he was scrupulous. That is, he thought it 
 would be well for Pound to open the account 
 under a dummy name and deal with himself per- 
 sonally. This exactly suited Pound. 
 
 For some time Pound did, indeed, deal rather 
 extensively in grain, buying and selling so as to 
 avoid much risk of loss, yet paying a good many 
 hundred dollars in commissions to Lansing & Co. 
 Then he proposed to put in a private telephone 
 wire between his desk and Mr. Lansing's desk 
 because it was so inconvenient to go two blocks, 
 personally, or send a messenger, with every order. 
 Mr. Lansing could see the inconvenience also
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 that, with a private telephone, Pound would prob- 
 ably trade more extensively. 
 
 The next step was somewhat more difficult ; but 
 by this time Pound was on very good terms with 
 the grain merchant considering how much superi- 
 or to him, by nature and education, the latter was. 
 
 In good time he pointed out that Lansing & 
 Co. had a fine clientele in the grain business. 
 Many of these grain clients also dealt in stocks. 
 Why shouldn't Mr. Lansing do their stock busi- 
 ness as well as their grain business, thereby, out 
 of hand, greatly increasing his income? True, 
 Mr. Lansing might take their stock orders now, 
 and turn them over to an exchange member who 
 would hog all the commissions, leaving not a sou 
 for Lansing & Co. Why shouldn't Mr. Lansing 
 just send the stock orders over to Pound, who 
 would not only divide the commissions with him, 
 but would let him keep all the interest which he 
 charged the customers for carrying their stocks? 
 In short, why shouldn't Mr. Lansing take the ten 
 or fifteen thousand dollars a year which was all 
 ready to drop into his hand? 
 
 152
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 This, of course, was not merely writing pre- 
 scriptions for the quack. It was going into full 
 partnership with him with the important excep- 
 tion that the partnership would be secret. 
 
 According to his nature, Mr. Lansing fell only 
 by degrees. That is, he began by sending only 
 a few stock orders over to the bucketshop. Be- 
 fore long, however, he was sending all his stock 
 orders that way. The business between the regu- 
 lar house and the bucketshop, being of a peculiar 
 nature, was carried on in a peculiar way. 
 
 Naturally, Mr. Lansing took every precaution 
 he could think of to keep it secret. The private 
 telephone line ran direct from his desk to Pound's 
 desk, without any other connection. All the 
 orders were sent by himself personally over this 
 line, and received by Pound personally. To con- 
 firm the orders, Pound merely wrote on a blank 
 card the name of the stock, the number of shares 
 bought or sold, and the price ; then signed it with 
 his initials and mailed the card to Mr. Lansing 
 personally in a plain envelope. The trades were 
 not entered at all on the regular books of the 
 
 153
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 bucketshop, but were kept by Pound in a little red 
 memorandum book, securely locked in his desk. 
 Mr. Lansing was even fearful lest the money 
 that passed between them for margins and on 
 settlement of trades might be traced through the 
 banks. At Pound's suggestion the checks were 
 made out to his wife, under her former name of 
 Emma Raymond. 
 
 Now, Lansing & Co.'s customers were mostly 
 of the experienced, more or less "professional" 
 sort. As stocks had been going up for a good 
 while they were inclined to take the bear side 
 that is, to play for a fall. Consequently, they 
 sold much more than they bought. And, as stocks 
 continued to rise pretty steadily, they lost pretty 
 steadily. Thus the number of checks that trav- 
 eled from Lansing & Co. to Emma decidedly ex- 
 ceeded the number that traveled back from Emma 
 to Lansing & Co. 
 
 This was a welcome relief to Pound. He had 
 pushed on with the wire. The company now had 
 ten country offices the farthest one in Montana. 
 The wire account ate up its meagre capital. 
 
 154
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Moreover, nearly all of the country speculators, 
 when they dealt in stocks, played for a rise, and 
 as stocks rose their winnings accumulated. No 
 such luck attended them when they dealt in grain. 
 Indeed, the bucketshop's grain account showed a 
 very fair profit. Its gains from Lansing's profes- 
 sional bears helped. Yet there was no denying 
 that it was skating over exceedingly thin ice. 
 For days together it was, in fact, hopelessly in- 
 solvent. It could not have come near paying its 
 customers what it owed them if they had de- 
 manded payment. Pound fortified himself with 
 the conviction that they would not demand pay- 
 ment, but would continue putting back into the 
 game all they won and more, too. More money 
 did, indeed, come in than went out; but knowledge 
 that one cannot pay if required to do so is trying 
 to one's nerves. 
 
 Without a suspicion that their winnings con- 
 sisted of nothing more tangible than some figures 
 on the bucketshop's books, the country bulls were 
 in high feather. Solly Bloom, at Bremen, bought 
 himself another diamond ring. But he wore it in 
 
 155
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 his pocket for S. Bloom, Sr., was one of the few 
 persons in town who did not know that Solly was 
 playing the market. The habitues of Joe Hart- 
 wick's Sample Room discussed his trades with in- 
 terest and with intimate knowledge. Even Zeke, 
 the colored porter of the Bremen House, knew 
 that Solly was fourteen hundred dollars ahead of 
 the game and told traveling men about it in the 
 same spirit of local pride with which he boasted 
 of the gristmill and the big wheat crop. 
 
 It was noticed that Mr. Barlow now carried 
 prime five-cent cigars right around in his vest 
 pocket, and every now and then gave one away. 
 From which the inference that Mr. Barlow was 
 somehow making a great deal of money was irre- 
 sistible. It began to be rumored that he was plan- 
 ning to build a residence which would outshine 
 anything in the county. When questioned about 
 it Mr. Barlow only smiled mysteriously, then went 
 to his room and figured up again how much his 
 Copper stock had made for him. 
 
 Wyandotte and Prairie Center, Luperville and 
 
 Roscoe, Loam City, Hillsdale and Heinemann 
 
 156
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 each had its group of happy little bulls. And 
 stocks still rose. 
 
 At length Pound grew nervous understanding 
 the psychology of the little bull. That mysterious 
 animal would let his winnings accumulate until 
 they reached such proportions that they presented 
 themselves to his mind in the (Tangible form of a 
 new barn, or an L on the house, or a driving 
 horse, or a trip to the Coast. Then he would 
 want to draw them out and convert them into that 
 tangible form. Or else, some subtle wave of cau- 
 tion would infect a whole drove of him at once. 
 
 Wyandotte, the oldest office, was the first one 
 to turn bad. One customer after another drew 
 out considerable sums. Then the newest office, 
 in Montana, began pulling unpleasantly at the 
 bank account. Next Brewer wrote that he guessed 
 Mr. Barlow was going to pull out. Mr. Barlow 
 was "long" six hundred shares of Copper, on 
 which his gains amounted to nearly nine thousand 
 dollars. 
 
 At this inopportune moment the refreshing 
 stream of cash from Lansing & Co. was partly 
 
 157
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 cut off. Mr. Lansing Pound could hardly for- 
 give him for it discovered a trader who was a 
 bull and had the courage of his convictions. This 
 man had bought Northern Pacific until he was 
 "long" eight hundred shares. Lansing's bear 
 traders were still "short" some three thousand 
 shares of various stocks ; but as the bears lost, the 
 bull won; so, on a net balance, less margin money 
 than formerly passed from Lansing to Pound. 
 
 The bucketshop had a fine balance to its credit 
 at the bank, but it really owed its customers twice 
 the amount of the balance. Pound was troubled 
 by a feeling that the concern had become a house 
 of cards which any breeze that started a selling 
 movement among the customers would lay low. 
 
 The breeze sprang up early in May. Pound 
 received a letter from the manager at Wyandotte 
 which some more skillful hand had evidently 
 prepared. It said that the local customers had 
 been conferring and had reached the conclusion 
 that the Moxley Stock and Grain Company should 
 at once deposit in the Wyandotte Bank at least 
 enough money to settle all local trades, and there- 
 
 158
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 after local margin money should be kept at home 
 instead of being forwarded daily to St. Paul. In 
 compliance with this opinion, the manager wrote, 
 he had given the Wyandotte Bank a draft on the 
 company for five thousand dollars. 
 
 Now, under Pound's system, all the margin 
 money that was paid in at the local offices was at 
 once transferred by wire to St. Paul. Naturally, 
 the local banks would have preferred to keep this 
 money at home. Pound guessed that the Wyan- 
 dotte Bank people had been egging on the man- 
 ager to make this move. 
 
 It presented a dangerous dilemma. On the one 
 hand, if he honored the manager's draft, thereby 
 transferring five thousand dollars to the Wyan- 
 dotte Bank, it would break up his system of keep- 
 ing the money and the game entirely in his own 
 hands. ,Very likely the Wyandotte Bank would 
 pass on the word to the banks in other towns, 
 which would follow its lead. As the company 
 didn't have half enough money to go around, the 
 result would be ruin. On the other hand, if he 
 refused to pay the draft the Wyandotte Bank 
 
 159
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 might proclaim that he was out of money and 
 start a panic among his customers which would 
 spread to other towns with equal ruin. 
 
 He left the office early and walked out to the 
 modest flat which he and Emma had taken. It 
 was a beautiful May afternoon. Even in that 
 comparatively high latitude spring was well ad- 
 vanced. But Pound was scarcely aware of it. 
 His mood was not vernal. He gave Emma the 
 letter without comment. 
 
 She considered it carefully. "I remember this 
 man," she observed, glancing again at the letter. 
 "He used to hang around the office when I was 
 out there. I don't believe he's got any sand. Re- 
 fuse to pay the draft and send Ham down there 
 to threaten to fire him on the spot. I bet, if you 
 jump on him quick with both feet he'll cave and 
 be down on his knees begging Ham to let him 
 keep the office on any terms. If the bluff don't 
 work" she smiled a little thoughtfully "well, 
 there's no use hunting for the last ditch until you 
 come to it." 
 
 Both of them, in fact, had courage, but it was 
 1 60
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 not of the blind, feather-headed kind. They real- 
 ized the gravity of the situation, and faced it 
 soberly. Indeed, that evening Emma examined 
 the three diamonds in which she had thriftily in- 
 vested her pin money. If it came to that the 
 jewels would pay their boardbills for some time. 
 Pound got out an old get-rich-quick circular and 
 glanced it over. That was a line in which a man 
 with practically no capital could always try for a 
 fresh start although, if the postoffice authorities 
 happened to find it out it might land him in the 
 penitentiary. 
 
 He went downtown rather early next morning 
 the eighth of May. Entering the office, his eye 
 took in its familiar face, and his heart grew quite 
 heavy. This place was, after all, peculiarly his 
 own; the vantage ground to which he had pulled 
 himself up out of the ruck of things. Possibly 
 this was the last day he would enter it as master. 
 The thought was painful. Nevertheless, he pre- 
 pared coolly for the day's business. Hamilton 
 was already in Wyandotte where his bluff would 
 either disconcert the enemy or blow up the fort, 
 
 161
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 it was hard to tell which. And that long-awaited 
 turn in the market might come this very day. 
 
 The first bit of business was unpromising. Mr. 
 Lansing telephoned over an order to buy two hun- 
 dred shares more of Northern Pacific at the open- 
 ing of the market. Making a memorandum of 
 the trade, Pound swore under his breath at the 
 formal little man. 
 
 But more cheering developments awaited him. 
 The market, indeed, soon turned decidedly weak. 
 One stock after another declined, and as the quo- 
 tations sank a good many of the country bulls 
 were wiped out, or else had to rush in fresh money 
 by wire to keep their margins good. And this 
 sudden weakness of the market helped on Ham- 
 ilton's bluff, which was, indeed, completely suc- 
 cessful. 
 
 So Pound went home in very good spirits. "If 
 we can just get a few more days like today we'll 
 be on Easy Street," he told Emma cheerfully. 
 "Only," he added with a frown, "those blasted 
 Lansing trades bleed us." 
 
 In respect to. Lansing & Co. luck had signally 
 162
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 flouted him. For, while almost every other stock 
 on the list had declined, Northern Pacific had ad- 
 vanced. Thus, while Lansing's bears won on the 
 fall of the general list, his bull won on the advance 
 of Northern Pacific. "We ought to get that 
 Northern Pacific fellow tomorrow," Pound com- 
 mented. 
 
 But the morrow brought such a stock market as 
 no man had ever seen. While the price of all 
 other stocks melted like butter, Northern Pacific 
 rose in great leaps. Every one soon knew the 
 explanation. Northern Pacific was cornered. 
 Two factions, backed by hundreds of millions of 
 dollars, were fighting tooth and nail for it. And 
 this untoward battle of the giants plunged the 
 market into chaos. 
 
 Watching the panic sweep through the list like 
 fire in stubble, Pound raged helplessly. True, 
 this tremendous smash was wiping out all his tall- 
 grass bulls by wholesale. All their stakes and 
 winnings were tumbling into the profit account of 
 the bucketshop in a lump. But this furious panic, 
 Pound thought, would kill the game, frightening 
 
 163
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 everybody so there would be no getting them 
 back into the market. He was in the position of 
 a man who wanted a breeze and got a hurricane. 
 
 But this was by no means the worst. Lansing's 
 bear traders were "short" with him some three 
 thousand shares of various stocks. Every instant 
 piled up their gains and his losses on those short 
 trades. All that he was winning from his country 
 bulls was flowing automatically to the pockets of 
 Lansing's bears. And Lansing's one bull was 
 long a thousand shares of Northern Pacific 
 which had just sold at the ridiculous price of two 
 hundred and fifty dollars a share ! Pound's losses 
 on that Northern Pacific alone would ruin him. 
 
 To be ruined twice over by, or through, a min- 
 cing little snob, a pet sheep with a shaved chin ! 
 
 In helpless rage, half fascinated, he watched 
 the blackboard. Stocks fell and fell, as though 
 there were no bottom to the market ; but Northern 
 Pacific climbed. Quotations came so fast that the 
 blackboard man, holding a telegraph instrument 
 with a pliable wire in his left hand, even with his 
 
 shoulder, trotted up and down like an uneasy 
 
 164
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 dog, and still could not ply his chalk rapidly 
 enough. Under the column headed NP he 
 chalked "500." 
 
 "What's that? What's that?" Pound called. 
 
 The man threw a half-frightened glance over 
 his shoulder, as though the panic of the market 
 infected him, and called back: "Yes, sir; that's 
 right; five hundred for Northern Pacific!" 
 
 Pound almost laughed. It was simply ridicu- 
 lous! A roaring farce! And, some way, this 
 gleam of humor brought an amusing idea with it. 
 An instant afterward it struck him as strange that 
 he had not heard from Mr. Lansing that morn- 
 ing. At nearly the same time an office-boy slipped 
 up to tell him that the private 'phone in his room 
 was ringing. Striding to his desk, Pound reflected 
 sardonically that it would be exactly like Mr. Lan- 
 sing to get downtown late on this day of all days. 
 Composing the muscles of his face he took up the 
 receiver. Except for the Boston accent he would 
 hardly have recognized the agitated voice that 
 came over the wire. Evidently, Mr. Lansing's 
 nerves were in a sad state of excitement. 
 
 165
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 "Pound I Pound! Say, I want Mr. Pound! 
 Can't you understand anything? Oh, say, Pound? 
 Is that you, Pound? I've been trying to get you." 
 So the voice continued to clamor. 
 
 "This is Pound, Mr. Lansing ; I'm listening ; go 
 ahead," said the bucketshop man coolly. 
 
 "Say, Pound. See here. Now, listen. Our 
 account, you know; our account. Pound, I want 
 every trade in that account closed out immediately 
 at the market. Do you understand?" 
 
 "I understand, Mr. Lansing," Pound replied. 
 "Close every trade in the account immediately." 
 
 "At the market. You understand? And, say, 
 Pound, we must get together immediately. We 
 must have a settlement, you and I. Do you 
 understand?" 
 
 "I'll have a statement of the account made up 
 as soon as possible, Mr. Lansing," said Pound, 
 "and send it right over to you." 
 
 "Very well, Pound. At once. You under- 
 stand? We must have a settlement." 
 
 Going to the blackboard, Pound took down the 
 latest quotations on the various stocks in Mr. 
 
 166
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Lansing's account. Then he got out the little red 
 memorandum book and figured up the gains 
 that is, the difference between the last quotations 
 and the prices at which Mr. Lansing had bought 
 or sold. He handed his figures to a bookkeeper, 
 who, from them, would draw up a statement of 
 the account in due form. Next, he sent a mes- 
 senger with a note to Emma. 
 
 Twice before noon Mr. Lansing called him up, 
 clamoring for the statement. Pound apologized; 
 it was an exceedingly busy day; his clerks were 
 overwhelmed; the bookkeeper would make up 
 the statement very soon ; he would send it over the 
 moment it was ready. 
 
 But when the statement was prepared he put 
 it in his desk and instructed the office-boy that if 
 Mr. Lansing called up he was to be told Mr. 
 Pound had stepped out. 
 
 There were plenty of other things to occupy his 
 attention. Before noon Northern Pacific had sold 
 at the monstrous price of one thousand dollars 
 a share, while other big stocks had fallen ten, 
 twenty, thirty, even forty dollars a share. That 
 
 167
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 day Mr. Barlow far from drawing out the nine 
 thousand dollars of accumulated profits which had 
 been his two days before wired in six thousand 
 dollars fresh money to keep good his margins. 
 Early in the day margin money poured in from 
 the other offices. Very often the new margin was 
 exhausted and the money lost before it could be 
 transferred by wire to headquarters. As the 
 panic developed its full intensity nearly every one 
 of the country bulls succumbed. Only a very few 
 who, like Mr. Barlow, could instantly command 
 a considerable sum in ready cash kept good their 
 margins. By one o'clock the country sheets of 
 the bucketshop were practically clean of stocks; 
 all the money that had been paid in for margins 
 and all the accumulated winnings belonged to the 
 company. 
 
 At that hour Pound put on his hat and stepped 
 briskly to the street. He had waited barely a 
 minute on the flagging when a carriage drew up 
 to the curb. Pound gave a direction to the driver 
 and entered the vehicle. Within sat Emma, and 
 at her feet stood a stout leather bag. Agreeably 
 
 168
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 to Pound's direction the carriage drew up before 
 a department store, which he entered, carrying 
 the stout bag. But he walked directly through the 
 establishment and down to the Norse National 
 Bank. There he conferred with the cashier a 
 few moments. That official conducted him to the 
 empty directors'-room. About five minutes later 
 he emerged, retraced his course to the department 
 store, came out on the other side and reentered 
 the carriage. He had first picked up the black 
 bag with an easy motion, as one lifts a light object. 
 But when he set it down again at Emma's feet it 
 seemed heavy. 
 
 "Don't lose it," he said jocularly. "It's the 
 best baggage we've ever had." 
 
 He left the carriage a block from the office 
 and walked back. When he entered the office-boy 
 told him that Mr. Lansing had been hanging to 
 the private telephone for the last ten minutes and 
 ringing the bell every other minute. Pound went 
 in and took up the receiver. 
 
 "This is Mr. Pound," he said sharply. "Now, 
 see here, Lansing, I'm not going to be bothered 
 
 169
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 this way. I've told you I'm busy. When I have 
 that statement ready I'll send it over to you. I 
 don't want to hear from you again until I do send 
 it. I've got something else to do. In fact, I'm 
 going to disconnect the telephone," with which 
 grossly-discourteous speech he put the receiver 
 on the desk and walked out. 
 
 The stock market closed in New York at two 
 o'clock, St. Paul time, but for a quarter of an 
 hour quotations continued to come in. The trade 
 had been so enormous that the wires could not 
 keep up with it. The quotation man, ready to 
 drop from weariness, was just thankfully writing 
 "Closed" on the blackboard, when Mr. Lansing 
 entered very briskly, dabbing the perspiration 
 from his brow with a fine cambric handkerchief. 
 He came with such haste, in fact, that a crossings 
 policeman was minded to arrest the chauffeur 
 until he saw the occupants of the car. For Mr. 
 Lansing was not alone. Benjamin F. Totherow, 
 a leader of the bar, accompanied him. The buck- 
 etshop man silently led them to his room. 
 
 Pound was quite cool. He noticed that the 
 170
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 commission merchant's eyes glistened excitedly, 
 and even as he sat down he began fiddling ner- 
 vously with his eyeglasses. But the lawyer turned 
 a lean, bold face upon the bucketshop man much 
 like a hawk hovering over a plump little chick. 
 Obviously the callers were in haste. 
 
 "I came to settle up our account, Pound," said 
 Mr. Lansing with a nervous briskness, yet quite 
 cheerfully swinging his glasses by their tiny black 
 ribbon. 
 
 "Well, now, Mr. Lansing," Pound began in a 
 mild and propitiating way, "this runs into a pretty 
 big sum. I suppose it isn't unusual isn't really 
 anything out of the way, as you might say when 
 the amount is so large, to grant some accommoda- 
 tion." 
 
 "Oh, no! Not unusual at all, Pound! Not un- 
 usual at all!" Mr. Lansing replied, very cheer- 
 fully indeed. He settled to a more comfortable 
 posture in his chair, contentedly swinging his eye- 
 glasses a little faster, and even turned to beam 
 upon Mr. Totherow triumphantly. "That is, you 
 
 understand, Pound as a matter of course a rea- 
 
 171
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 sonable accommodation. Part cash; part time 
 with reasonable security." He nodded his head 
 at the bucketshop man with good-natured conde- 
 scension. "What would be your idea now, Pound, 
 of a reasonable accommodation?" he asked en- 
 couragingly. 
 
 "Why, I hardly know," Pound replied thought- 
 fully. "I hardly know what to say. If it would 
 be satisfactory to you, Mr. Lansing quite satis- 
 factory to you," he repeated apologetically, "I 
 would be willing to take twenty-five per cent, in 
 cash and your notes for the remainder at six 
 months with fair security, as you said." 
 
 Mr. Lansing seemed stricken with paralysis. 
 His jaw dropped. The hand that was swinging 
 the eyeglasses froze stiff in the middle of a beat. 
 "You'd take my notes?" he gasped incredu- 
 lously. 
 
 "If that suits you, Mr. Lansing," Pound replied 
 mildly. As mildly he added: "Here's my state- 
 ment of the account. See if it agrees with yours." 
 
 He took the statement from his drawer and 
 
 handed it over. Mr. Lansing stared down at it 
 
 172
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 in a dazed sort of way for a moment, and then 
 murmured with a kind of awe, "Gracious 
 Heavens I" 
 
 For on this statement all of Mr. Lansing's pur- 
 chases of Northern Pacific stock appeared as 
 sales. It showed that the commission merchant 
 had been "short" with the bucketshop one thou- 
 sand shares of that stock, and as the trades had 
 been closed at five hundred dollars a share, his 
 loss on Northern Pacific amounted to four hun- 
 dred thousand dollars. Mr. Lansing had ac- 
 cording to the statement and in fact been "short" 
 some three thousand shares of other stocks, and 
 those trades, having been closed at the panic 
 prices, showed a profit of eighty thousand dollars. 
 Thus, on the net balance, according to Pound's 
 statement, Mr. Lansing owed the bucketshop 
 three hundred and twenty thousand dollars. 
 
 The commission merchant seemed bereft of 
 sense. He turned stupidly to his lawyer and tried 
 to explain it. "You see, Totherow? You see 
 what he's done?" he stammered weakly. "My 
 purchases of Northern Pacific you see he's put 
 
 173
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 them down as sales. He says I was short a thou- 
 sand shares of Northern Pacific." He shook his 
 head as though dumfounded, and murmured 
 again, "Gracious Heavens 1" 
 
 The lawyer turned to Pound with an angry, 
 menacing look which the latter met with an ex- 
 pression of innocent surprise. "Why, Mr. Lan- 
 sing," he expostulated, "of course you were short. 
 You know you never bought anything. You were 
 always short." 
 
 Pound's virtuous indignation rose. He rum- 
 pled his hair, blustered, thumped the table. In a 
 moment all three were shouting at once. But 
 Pound's lungs were strongest. He outshouted 
 them. Of course Lansing was "short" of North- 
 ern Pacific; Lansing was always "short" of every- 
 thing; they couldn't bluff him; he wanted his 
 money three hundred and twenty thousand dol- 
 lars ! He banged away at the table, bawled, ges- 
 ticulated. Why, he could prove it right from the 
 original entries of the trades ! Here they were ! 
 They could see for themselves! Whereupon he 
 flung down the little red memorandum book.
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 This book contained the only record in Pound's 
 office of the transactions between Lansing and 
 himself, and this record consisted simply of a 
 series of entries made in pencil. Sure enough, it 
 showed that all the trades in Northern Pacific 
 were sales, not purchases. Of course, there was a 
 rubber on the other end of Pound's pencil. 
 
 To be sure, Mr. Lansing had his own record, 
 and various memoranda bearing Pound's initials. 
 Yet Pound insisted that the little red book was the 
 true record; defied them to prove otherwise. As 
 a matter of fact, the whole business was illicit, 
 the transactions were gambling agreements, and it 
 was exceedingly doubtful if a court would en- 
 force them. But Benjamin F. Totherow was not 
 out of trumps. Amid the senseless clamor he 
 suddenly collected himself and sprang up. 
 
 "Very well! Very well! We'll come to the 
 showdown!" he cried menacingly. "Mr. Pound, 
 with your kind permission, I'll use your tele- 
 phone." 
 
 Pound himself took the instrument from the 
 desk and handed it over to the lawyer with a
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 politeness as mocking as his own. It took Mr. 
 Totherow a minute to get the connection. Then, 
 to the person at the other end of the wire he said 
 loudly: "This is Totherow. Go ahead instantly'. 1 " 
 
 For a minute or two the little room was still. 
 The only sounds were those made by the lawyer 
 in stepping across to the table and reseating him- 
 self. Very deliberately, in low but full and scorn- 
 ful tones, he addressed the bucketshop man. 
 
 "We came here, sir, to settle this account," he 
 said. "Mr. Lansing was aware that he had a 
 slippery fish to deal with, so he called me in. We 
 came prepared. We were really to settle with 
 you reasonably. We would have accepted fifty 
 thousand dollars in cash, and your note, fairly se- 
 cured, for another fifty thousand. With that we 
 would have wiped the slate. We will still settle 
 on those terms if you accept them immediately." 
 He paused ; but Pound did not deign to reply. 
 
 "I am not in the habit," Mr. Totherow con- 
 tinued with justifiable pride, "of having clients 
 of mine sent away empty-handed. So, while I was 
 prepared to settle amiably, I was also prepared 
 
 176
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 to force a settlement. Probably you banked on 
 Mr. Lansing's unwillingness to appear publicly as 
 a patron of a bucketshop. It is not necessary for 
 him so to appear. He has already assigned his 
 claim against you to a third person." The law- 
 yer again paused an instant and leveled a long 
 forefinger at Pound. "On behalf of that third 
 person," he added very deliberately, "I have at- 
 tached your bank account. The papers will be 
 served immediately. You can't move a dollar 
 until you settle with us ; not a dollar !" He leaned 
 back and smiled. 
 
 Pound simply reached over and touched the 
 button on his desk. When the office-boy appeared 
 he said: "Jimmy, just call up the Norse Na- 
 tional Bank and ask them to tell you the amount 
 of our balance ; say I want to know." 
 
 In silence they heard the boy telephone, and as 
 he waited for a reply Pound turned to Mr. Lan- 
 sing. "Would you like to hear the answer?" he 
 asked coolly. "Jimmy, hand the telephone to Mr. 
 Lansing here." 
 
 Doubtfully and half mechanically Mr. Lansing 
 177
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 took the instrument from the boy. In a moment 
 he exclaimed excitedly: "What's that? What's 
 that? Two thousand?" He listened again; then 
 put down the instrument and turned mournfully 
 to his lawyer. "They've got only two thousand 
 three hundred and sixteen dollars in the bank," 
 he said. 
 
 Pound laughed gently, but Mr. Totherow 
 blushed. The lawyer had calculated that, at the 
 close of such a day as this, the bucketshop would 
 have a great deal of money in the bank. He now 
 perceived that Pound had anticipated exactly that 
 calculation. "You've drawn the money out of 
 the bank," he said sternly; "but it will do you no 
 good. I'll find it." Whereat Pound gently 
 laughed again, and again Mr. Totherow blushed 
 with annoyance. He was aware that it was much 
 easier to talk of finding the money than to do it. 
 
 "I haven't any money in the bank," said Pound. 
 "And you couldn't hold it if I had. But I have 
 a valid claim against Lansing & Co. for three hun- 
 dred and twenty thousand dollars. So help me, 
 
 I'll bring suit against them tomorrow for the 
 
 178
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 whole amount, and see that every newspaper in 
 St. Paul and Minneapolis gets the story just how 
 Mr. Charles Francis Lansing, the eminent 'reg- 
 ular' commission merchant, took his confiding cus- 
 tomers' stock orders and sent 'em over to a buck- 
 etshop. It will make quite a sensation, I judge. 
 We'll wipe the slate right now and pass receipts 
 in full, or I'll bring that suit tomorrow, so help 
 me!" 
 
 Mr. Lansing gave one gasp and collapsed. 
 They wiped the slate. 
 
 Pound went home shortly after four o'clock 
 rather tired, but quite happy. In the modest 
 flat he and Emma opened the stout black bag and 
 looked admiringly down at its contents which 
 consisted of eighty thousand dollars in banknotes. 
 Not a soul besides themselves could assert a legal 
 claim to a dollar of it. 
 
 They were not usually a demonstrative pair. 
 But now Emma leaned affectionately against her 
 husband's shoulder and laid an arm lightly about 
 his neck. It reminded her of the time she had 
 stood in a dingy hallway in Chicago, peering at a 
 
 179
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 tiny roll of bills that nestled in her handbag, and 
 had decided to cast in her lot with the man who 
 was now her husband. The heap of tangible 
 wealth in the black bag looked impassively up at 
 them. To such satisfactory proportions had that 
 little nest-egg in her handbag grown. 
 
 180
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 i 
 
 WHERE THE MONEY CAME FROM 
 
 JOHN and Emma sat day-dreaming in the 
 parlor of their modest flat. Emma's 
 striped yellow cat, which had been curled 
 in a comfortable doze on the foot of the green 
 plush sofa, awoke and got up, stretching herself 
 with arched back and contentedly-waving tail. 
 This commonplace object, striking upon the man's 
 blank eyes, half broke the musing spell, half re- 
 called him to himself. 
 
 He looked over at his wife, smiling in an absent 
 way. "Ten months ago today," he said, confess- 
 ing his thought, "I was a telegraph operator at 
 eighty dollars a month." 
 
 Emma smiled back, the dream still in her dark 
 eyes. "Yes," she said, "ten months ago and I 
 was working a ticker machine for fourteen dollars 
 
 a week." 
 
 181
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Their mutual thought really referred to the 
 stout black bag which stood on the floor between 
 them under the edge of the centertable and con- 
 tained eighty thousand dollars in banknotes. It 
 was the strong consciousness of the bag and its 
 contents, subtly intoxicating their minds, that set 
 them a-dreaming. They were like two inventors 
 who had been experimenting eagerly and with 
 high hopes and had now obtained sure proof that 
 the invention would work. They had, in a meas- 
 ure, cashed in. Only in a measure, however. For 
 they felt that in the bucketshop they possessed a 
 money-making machine of whose almost unlimited 
 possibilities the banknotes in the black bag were 
 merely a first fruit. They didn't, by any means, 
 propose to stop with only eighty thousand dollars. 
 
 "We must get us a better flat, Johnny," Emma 
 observed, musing happily again. "There are 
 some swell ones over in the new Cleopatra. We 
 can afford the best there is." 
 
 "Yes," Pound assented absently. He was not, 
 in fact, at all thinking of flats. Although for 
 
 some time he had been able to command consider- 
 
 182
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 able sums of money, yet the money all lay con- 
 stantly at hazard he hadn't cashed in. So he 
 had felt rather bound to live in a modest, econom- 
 ical manner. Now he felt secure ; he could fairly 
 see a river of banknotes flowing toward him, and 
 he could think of a great many pleasant things to 
 do with money besides renting flats. 
 
 And after a little interruption caused by the 
 May panic, the river of cash flowed. That panic, 
 while bringing the first large consignment of cur- 
 rency to the Pounds, brought far other results 
 elsewhere. To Mr. Lansing, the eminent, "regu- 
 lar" commission merchant whom Pound had 
 gulled, it brought long and painful calculations as 
 to whether he would be able to pull through or 
 be obliged to go into bankruptcy; and out in the 
 country, along the line of the bucketshop's private 
 wire, it brought much gloom. 
 
 In the little private office at the rear of S. 
 Bloom & Co.'s emporium at Bremen sat father 
 and son on the morning of May tenth. The door 
 was locked and Solly was in tears. Unutterably 
 dejected, his head bowed to his breast, he wiped 
 
 183
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 his eyes with a limp handkerchief. He had taken 
 off his two diamond rings sacrificially, and laid 
 them on a corner of the battered little desk. S. 
 Bloom, Sr., sat at the desk, his fat shoulders 
 bent, his dim, woebegone eyes fixed upon his son. 
 
 Such was the denouement of Solly's dazzling 
 operations in stocks through the branch office of 
 the bucketshop. When the market broke on the 
 eighth he had appropriated the entire bank 
 account of S. Bloom & Co. to keep good his mar- 
 gins, thinking the market would go up again next 
 day and he would restore the money. But next 
 day was the panic. 
 
 In the office of the First National Bank Mr. 
 Barlow, the President, bent anxiously over some 
 figures on a sheet of letter paper, which he 
 hastily concealed when a customer entered. His 
 prematurely-wrinkled face looked quite haggard 
 that day. He had kept good his margins on six 
 hundred shares of Copper through the panic, and 
 so saved himself from being wiped out. But in 
 order to do so he had wired six thousand dollars 
 to the main office of the bucketshop in St. Paul 
 
 184
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 the day before. Now, six thousand dollars was 
 more ready money than he personally had pos- 
 sessed. 
 
 Greggs, secretary of the gristmill, was very low- 
 spirited, also. He had explained to his wife 
 manfully why they couldn't build the addition to 
 the house that they had been saving up money 
 for. She took it bravely, waiting until he was 
 out of sight before she cried. 
 
 Bill Miller, the teamster, emerged from Jo 
 Hartwick's sample-room in amazement. Jo had 
 not only refused him credit for a glass of beer, 
 but had demanded instant payment of the stand- 
 ing score and "cussed" him. Never had Bill seen 
 jjo in such bad humor. He couldn't account for 
 it not knowing that Jo had been "long" a hun- 
 dred shares of Sugar, and had lost a whole quar- 
 ter's profits. 
 
 Three miles out of town George Hewlett was 
 doggedly plowing some corn land. He had dis- 
 charged one of his three hired men that morning. 
 Doggedly plowing, he found himself still engulfed 
 in surprise. He simply couldn't understand that 
 
 185
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 panic, and he was tormented by a desire to hitch 
 up, drive to town and find out whether, upon 
 further investigation, it hadn't turned out to be 
 just a mistake. 
 
 But this merely dumfounded state was of short 
 duration. Within a week Pound issued a pam- 
 phlet compiled from the New York newspapers, 
 explaining all about the panic. Reading this 
 pamphlet, Mr. Hewlett understood that the panic 
 had been, so to speak, a mere inadvertence ; one 
 of those incidental aberrations from which noth- 
 ing human is entirely free. Indeed, the pamphlet 
 comforted him so much that he soon borrowed 
 two hundred dollars and bought a hundred shares 
 of Atchison. 
 
 One by one they forgot their losses and came 
 back into the game, bringing others with them. 
 In six weeks the bucketshop was doing a bigger 
 business than ever. Hewlett, for example, was 
 a man of influence, rather past middle age, angu- 
 lar, bilious, restless, of unimpeachable character 
 save for an occasional overindulgence in hard 
 
 cider. He was active in the church, and the same 
 
 186
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 nervous egotism which incited him to debate with 
 the minister led him to tout for the bucketshop 
 that had captured his imagination. He absorbed 
 Pound's market letters, read the market gossip 
 in the newspapers, and suffered a not uncommon 
 delusion that he knew all about the "situation." 
 He drove to town nearly every day, invariably 
 visiting the bucketshop. Sometimes he brought a 
 farmer friend, or two or three of them, whom he 
 would place before the blackboard while he de- 
 livered them a lecture on the stock market, 
 exactly as though he were the hired barker of the 
 show, delighting to exhibit his knowledge before 
 them. 
 
 As for the character of this knowledge among 
 other show-window items the bucketshop posted 
 every Saturday the weekly statement of the asso- 
 ciated banks of New York. One Saturday as 
 Brewer, the swarthy little telegraph operator, was 
 chalking up the figures, running into hundreds of 
 millions of dollars, he heard Hewlett say to a 
 farmer friend: "There you can see what sort of 
 backing this concern's got. That is the statement 
 
 187
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 of its bank account in New York." The chubby 
 telegraph operator nearly fell over. 
 
 Presently, again, Brewer had business of a con- 
 fidential nature at the bank. President Barlow's 
 mysterious friend who was none other than 
 President Barlow himself was buying more 
 stocks and using the bank's money for margins. 
 Presently, also, Mr. Lewis, the bucketshop's local 
 manager, had a mysterious client of his own, who 
 met him furtively and gave him orders to buy 
 stocks, as well as the money with which to mar- 
 gin the orders. This secretive client was none 
 other than Solly Bloom. 
 
 This was happening not only at Bremen, but 
 at all other branch offices of the bucketshop at 
 Wyandotte, Luperville, Prairie Center, Dunes, at 
 a dozen thriving country towns; then at fifteen, 
 at twenty, at twenty-five. For Pound was steadily 
 pushing the private wire farther and farther out, 
 tapping new territory, opening new branch offices. 
 Hamilton, to whom this missionary work largely 
 fell, was kept on the jump. Nearly everywhere 
 
 the lure caught. People flocked in to deal in 
 
 188
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 stocks and grain on margin. The innocence of 
 many of these country speculators was appalling. 
 Hamilton candidly confessed that it simply para- 
 lyzed him. Almost anywhere the New York 
 bank statement might easily have been palmed 
 off as a veracious exhibit of the bucketshop's own 
 cash resources. 
 
 At Dunes, for example, a chance drummer 
 who had been told all about it by a cousin living 
 in New York explained to the hotelkeeper what 
 a wonderful property Metropolitan Street Rail- 
 way was. On the strength of this important in- 
 formation the landlord began a bull campaign in 
 the stock and within six months had lost his hotel 
 and all other belongings. At Butte, an old fel- 
 low whom nobody knew hung around the office 
 for weeks, dropping in nearly every day, reading 
 the gossip, watching the quotations, speaking to 
 no one. He was shabbily dressed and the office 
 men set him down for a harmless tramp. One 
 day he appeared with a certificate of deposit for 
 ten thousand dollars and bought a thousand shares 
 of American Ice at thirty-four. When the stock 
 
 189
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 dropped to twenty-five he put up another ten thou- 
 sand dollars, and another ten thousand when it 
 reached fifteen. At eight he closed the trade, 
 having lost twenty-six thousand dollars. They 
 discovered that he was an old miner, who in forty 
 toilsome years had managed to save thirty thou- 
 sand dollars. He sought no advice, made no com- 
 plaint. Receiving the check for four thousand 
 dollars, which was all he had left, he merely re- 
 marked, "Easy come, easy go," and stumped out. 
 Almost every other office had its "prize sucker" 
 who lost heavily, besides the little suckers who 
 lost comparatively small sums. 
 
 This, as Hamilton remarked, was the great 
 beauty of the country trade two times out of 
 three it would stick to a losing deal until it was 
 plumb busted. 
 
 Naturally, Pound was hungry for that trade. 
 As profits piled up he constantly extended his wire 
 net to the west and north into Canada. The wire 
 lengthened through Montana, Idaho, Washing- 
 ton, Manitoba ; tapped Seattle, Winnipeg, and fat 
 
 country towns between. The winter after the 
 
 190
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 panic some forty branch offices sent their 'daily 
 tribute to headquarters. One afternoon the buck- 
 etshop's cash in bank touched four hundred thou- 
 sand dollars. 
 
 The memoranda lay on Pound's desk. He 
 looked at the total with a swelling heart 
 $408,674. 
 
 "I'm going East," he said abruptly. "I'm go- 
 ing to cover this country and Canada. Why not?" 
 
 Hamilton, to whom the remark was addressed, 
 thoughtfully gnawed his red mustache. "You 
 can't handle many more offices from here," he 
 suggested. 
 
 "No," Pound assented, "but we can handle 
 some offices from Toronto, some from Chicago, 
 some from Buffalo put a manager in each of 
 those places who can run the branches. I guess 
 I can find four or five men who won't steal the 
 bank roll over night." 
 
 Hamilton perceived that Pound's mind was 
 made up, and it wasn't his business, anyway. 
 "There's one office we ought to lose," he observed 
 presently. "I guess we can't lose it any too quick, 
 
 191
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 either. There'll be a grand blow-out at Bremen 
 one of these days." 
 
 They had spoken of this before. Mr. Barlow, 
 president of the First National Bank, had already 
 lost nearly forty thousand dollars in his stock- 
 market operations through the bucketshop. They 
 knew well enough that he didn't have that much 
 money to lose. A blow-out, such as they contem- 
 plated, usually occasioned much scandal and re- 
 sentment. They judged that it would be prudent 
 to close the Bremen branch of the bucketshop 
 before the event occurred. 
 
 Pound considered it a moment. The Bremen 
 branch was quite profitable. Naturally, he hated 
 to lose the profit. Yet a man must sometimes sac- 
 rifice something for the sake of his reputation, 
 and, after all, with fifty other offices in operation, 
 Bremen was only a small detail. 
 
 "Go out there tomorrow, Ham, and close the 
 office," he said conclusively. "Tell Barlow he 
 can send his orders and his margin money direct 
 to this office as before. We'll fill his orders for 
 
 him as long as his money lasts." Thus, quite 
 
 192
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 lightly, he disposed of the detail, pulling down the 
 roller top of his desk. "And I say, Ham," he 
 added rather crossly, "don't get full out there. 
 You might blab to somebody." 
 
 In the high tide of success Pound was quite 
 peremptory with his subordinates even with 
 Hamilton, who had served him so well. In fact, 
 if Hamilton had not served him so long and so 
 well he would not have tolerated the lank, round- 
 shouldered man's one great foible. In his success 
 Pound was getting the name of being a rather 
 harsh, irascible man. 
 
 Hamilton dutifully closed the Bremen office. 
 Mr. Lewis, who had managed that branch from 
 the beginning and found the employment profit- 
 able, arranged to fill the gap to some extent by 
 opening a little r independent bucketshop of his own. 
 But Mr. Barlow had never dealt with Mr. Lewis. 
 
 The banker continued to send orders for the 
 purchase and sale of stock direct to the St. Paul 
 headquarters; also, money with which to margin 
 the orders. Sometimes luck seemed to favor him, 
 but not for long. The devoted man, struggling 
 to get out of his mire, plunged on, only to find 
 
 193
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 himself more deeply involved. By mail, from 
 time to time, he remitted various sums to St. Paul, 
 following the remittance by a telegraphic order 
 in cipher to buy or sell certain stock. 
 
 Jn May, when the branch office at Bremen had 
 been closed three months, Pound received an un- 
 usual communication from Mr. Barlow. The 
 letter itself was merely the ordinary terse state- 
 ment that the amount inclosed was to be placed 
 to the writer's credit on account of margins to 
 cover an order that would be sent by wire. It 
 was the inclosure that was unusual. This con- 
 sisted of two drafts drawn by the First National 
 of Bremen, one on New York and one on Chi- 
 cago, each for twenty thousand dollars. Even 
 as Pound was contemplating the drafts Tommy 
 Watrous a sort of confidential utility man 
 thrust his curly, blond head in the private room to 
 say that Mr. Barlow had just wired an order to 
 buy twenty thousand shares of Union Pacific at 
 the opening of the market. 
 
 "All right," said Pound. "Fill the order for 
 him, and wire him that it is filled. Then take 
 these two drafts over to the Norse National and 
 
 194
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 have 'em telegraph New York and Chicago to 
 see whether the drafts are good." 
 
 About an hour later the Norse National tele- 
 phoned that it had received answers from New 
 York and Chicago; neither of the drafts was 
 good. Pound beckoned Tommy. 
 
 "Just scratch off that twenty thousand shares 
 of Union Pacific," he said. "Brother Barlow's 
 blow-out has arrived." 
 
 The manner of its arrival was as follows : Mr. 
 Barlow left the bank about four o'clock and went 
 home. Bill Miller, the drayman, remembered 
 afterward that he had met Mr. Barlow on the 
 Bremen House corner just a few minutes past 
 four, and talked with him about removing the 
 ashes from the basement of the bank. At home 
 the banker went upstairs to his bedroom. His 
 wife and daughter noticed that he looked ill and 
 was absent-minded. But he was never a com- 
 municative man, and of late illness and absence 
 of mind had been fairly chronic with him. About 
 half-past five his daughter saw him leaving the 
 house by the back door, and thought he was going 
 to take a stroll before supper, for it was a beau- 
 tiful spring day. 
 
 19$
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Directly after supper Miles, the young cashier 
 of the bank, called to see Mr. Barlow. He seemed 
 rather agitated, and the women surmised that 
 something untoward had happened at the bank 
 they even imagined the loss of several hundred 
 dollars on some loan. The cashier waited nearly 
 an hour on the front porch, and returned at half- 
 past eight. By that time the women were 
 alarmed, for Mr. Barlow never stayed away from 
 home in the evening. Early next morning two 
 boys, bent on fishing, found Mr. Barlow's hat 
 on the bank of the pool above the gristmill; but 
 it was not until nearly four o'clock in the after- 
 noon that they found his body in the pool. The 
 gristmill, with its deep, tree-shaded pool, had 
 been one of the objects which Hamilton had ad- 
 mired when he came to town to open the branch 
 office of the bucketshop. 
 
 Miles, the young cashier, was notified at once; 
 but he waited until the regular hour, four o'clock, 
 before he closed the bank. Then he went to the 
 railroad station and sent a telegram to the Comp- 
 troller of the Currency. Leaving the station he 
 saw a crowd on the Bremen House corner, and 
 
 196
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 went around the other way to avoid it. He 
 didn't wish to be questioned. 
 
 Bill Miller was in the center of the crowd. "I 
 was coming up the street here," he said excitedly, 
 "just a little past four o'clock might 'a' been as 
 much as five minutes past and I seen him coming 
 across the crossing from the bank, looking down 
 at his feet like he was studyin' something as 
 usual ; and I thinks to myself, thinks I : 'By Jolly, 
 he's lookin' sick.' " Thus, excitedly, Bill re- 
 hearsed his last encounter with the banker. 
 
 The crowd hung breathlessly upon his words. 
 The tragedy gripped every imagination. Only 
 yesterday, president of the First National, one of 
 the richest men in town, living in a brick house 
 with flower-beds on both sides of the lawn, keep- 
 ing a fine horse and buggy, able to command at 
 will every resource of comfort or pleasure; and 
 now Zeke, the colored porter of the Bremen 
 House, told them just how the body looked when 
 they dragged it out! Zeke himself was fairly 
 ashen, the eyes popping from his head, his tongue 
 stumbling over the words. 
 
 It came upon Bremen with stunning force. 
 197
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 The hotel clerk deserted his desk and let the 
 Chicago drummer clamor in vain while he edged 
 into the crowd, open-mouthed, and listened. Mr. 
 Riley, the grocer, rested his tin scoop full of sugar 
 on the counter while he repeated to Mrs. Truman 
 what Hank Barnard, the marshal, had told him 
 about the finding of the body. Jo Hartwick, in 
 the sample-room, forgot to make change and ab- 
 stractedly offered matches when a cigar was 
 ordered, as he listened to Hank's account. 
 
 "Too bad for the women folks," Jo commented 
 absently. "His wife's a nice woman and his 
 girl's a nice girl. Tough for them." Mechani- 
 cally Jo wiped the bar again, although it was per- 
 fectly dry. "I'm owing the city a thousand dol- 
 lars license money the first of July," he observed 
 with a far-away look. "I just got together the 
 last of the money o' Tuesday. It's all on deposit 
 over there." He nodded in the direction of the 
 First National Bank. 
 
 To many others Mr. Barlow's tragedy had a 
 personal dart. Even as they rehearsed the find- 
 ing of the body they wondered whether, possibly, 
 he had fallen in by accident, and if he hadn't 
 what about the bank? 
 
 198
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Avoiding the crowd and walking rapidly, the 
 young cashier reached home. He found his still 
 younger wife in tears, clasping Agnes, aged two, 
 as though, somehow, the deep pool threatened 
 her, while Justin, aged four, stood at his mother's 
 knee, knuckling his eyes and weeping without 
 knowing why. The wife's tears were of pure 
 pity and terror over Mr. and Mrs. Barlow and 
 Esther Barlow. She didn't know that she had 
 any other cause to weep. 
 
 Along in the night her husband told her. He 
 was only twenty-seven. He owed his position in 
 the bank entirely to Mr. Barlow, who had, com- 
 mercially speaking, brought him up from a youth. 
 Naturally, he had deferred to Mr. Barlow. He 
 had known certain things were not right, but Mr. 
 Barlow had assured him he would make them 
 right in a short time. "I never touched a penny 
 of the money, Nellie; but I suppose they'll blame 
 
 me," he said. 
 
 Blamed, indeed, was the young cashier as the 
 townspeople learned how the bank had been 
 looted. Wrath rapidly displaced pity, especially 
 among the stockholders and depositors. 
 
 199
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Such was the blow-out of which Hamilton had 
 a prevision the very day they opened the bucket- 
 shop, and which he and Pound had clearly fore- 
 seen for months. Finally, after assessing the 
 
 i 
 
 stockholders, the receiver of the wrecked bank 
 managed to pay the depositors eighty cents on 
 the dollar. Other interests claimed the town's 
 attention. The young cashier was not prosecuted. 
 Gradually the whole episode lost its edge, as all 
 such episodes do. In time Mr. Lewis even re- 
 opened his little bucketshop in the old stand above 
 the millinery shop. He still used the kitchen 
 table, the six wooden chairs and the bit of black- 
 board which constituted the original plant. Some 
 of the painted lines on the blackboard were quite 
 worn off with much marking up of figures and 
 rubbing them out, but its dull surface showed no 
 stain of blood or tears. 
 
 Pound heard of the events at Bremen mostly 
 with cynical amusement. To his whole staff he 
 reiterated the instructions: "Don't tamper with 
 the quotations. What's the use ? They can't win, 
 
 anyway. Give 'em the figures straight. You 
 
 200
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 couldn't keep money in the pockets of those 
 suckers with a padlock." 
 
 His experience seemed, indeed, fully to justify 
 this view. Already he had opened central offices 
 at Seattle, Toronto, Chicago and Buffalo, from 
 each of which a string of country branches was 
 operated. These central offices were necessarily, 
 in a measure, independent. Each had its own 
 bank roll, settled the trades at its branches and 
 paid its own losses without reference to the main 
 establishment in St. Paul. This, as Pound was 
 aware, laid him open in some degree to treachery 
 on the part of a central manager; but he was will- 
 ing to take some chances. He could afford to. A 
 flood of money was pouring in upon him. By 
 the time Mr. Lewis reopened his little shop at 
 Bremen in October Pound's big concern had more 
 than eight hundred thousand dollars in cash on 
 deposit in various banks. 
 
 That was success. Yet the game was not going 
 Pound's way altogether, by any means. Another 
 and most unexpected element had entered. 
 
 201
 
 FATE TAKES ADVANTAGE OF JOHN POUND 
 
 DIRECTLY after the Pounds took pos- 
 session of their new, notably swell apart- 
 ment in the Cleopatra, Emma proposed 
 to bring on her younger sister May from Chicago 
 to live with them. 
 
 Pound's ideas concerning this sister were neb- 
 ulous. He knew that she and Emma had lived 
 together in Chicago ; seemed to remember, rather 
 vaguely, that she had a job in a patent-medicine 
 office, addressing circulars or something of that 
 kind. He had gathered, indifferently, certain 
 broad impressions of Emma's home and child- 
 hood a dubious father, somewhat addicted to 
 
 drink and idleness, with a domineering, uncertain 
 temper; a worried, fretful, fearful, rather incom- 
 petent mother; protracted periods of hard sled- 
 ding in a money way. Somehow indifferently, 
 also he had gathered that Emma, the older sis- 
 
 202
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 ter, had taken May, the younger, under her 
 vigorous wing; was a kind of elder-sister-guardian 
 over her. He knew, for example, that Emma 
 sent her small sums of money from time to time. 
 So much, indefinitely, he had gathered. But his 
 total interest in the subject was slight. 
 
 He had, however, no objection whatever to 
 adopting May into the household precisely be- 
 cause he didn't really intend to depend so very 
 much upon the household himself. With the new 
 freedom to spend money liberally he was finding 
 pleasant ways of disposing of his leisure outside. 
 With Pound's concurrence, therefore, Emma went 
 to fetch her sister. 
 
 Emma was away a week. It cannot be said 
 that her husband suffered from lonesomeness. 
 He was making a number of amusing acquaint- 
 ances men, like himself, who could spend money 
 freely and there was no lack of resources for 
 passing an evening agreeably. He had no fault 
 whatever to find with his wife; but her wire, noti- 
 fying him that she would be at home next day, 
 evoked a vague little sense of boredom. Going 
 home to dinner next day his mind was a bit over- 
 
 203
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 cast, like that of a boy returning to school after 
 a vacation. 
 
 Stepping into the living room, he discovered 
 the sisters sitting side by side. They arose, and 
 he received an unexpected impression. Emma 
 took May's hand, glancing at her, smiling a little, 
 as she led her forward. It instantly arrested 
 Pound, for he perceived a quality which he had 
 not suspected in his wife. Toward this younger 
 sister she seemed protective, tender, fairly 
 motherly. But the real surprise was May her- 
 self. 
 
 She was the younger by five years, slender and 
 graceful. Her hair was less dark than Emma's, 
 her eyes more brown. Her brow was sloping, 
 her lips and chin full and tender, so that her pro- 
 file was really charming. Giving Pound her slim 
 hand, smiling, she blushed from sheer nervous- 
 ness and somehow reminded him of a shy, flut- 
 tered bird. He met her with hearty jocularity. 
 She smiled and laughed with faint blushes and 
 little nervous movements of her head, often turn- 
 ing to Emma as though referring Pound's jocular 
 sallies to her, as a dutiful child to its master. He 
 
 204
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 kept thinking of a bird, docile and trustful, yet 
 constantly with little uneasy flutterings of a native 
 instinct to fly away. 
 
 He found himself sitting beside her on the 
 Davenport, exerting himself to amuse her, try- 
 ing to make her laugh so to speak, trying to coax 
 her into security, a good deal as one courts a shy, 
 wild creature of the woods which now comes tim- 
 orously near, now flits away. At dinner he sud- 
 denly insisted that they must go to the theatre. 
 He left the table, went to the telephone and com- 
 missioned a scalper to get his seats, regardless of 
 price; then he ordered an automobile for the 
 evening. 
 
 Thus May at once became a prime factor in 
 the house. Pound felt toward her as toward a 
 dear child. It delighted him to have her enjoy 
 unaccustomed things which his money could pro- 
 cure. Within a week, he presented Emma with 
 a fine electric runabout, and a little later he bought 
 a touring car. He encouraged Emma to give 
 May a liberal credit at the best dressmakers. 
 
 One afternoon Emma brought her into the liv- 
 ing room to show Pound her first evening gown. 
 
 205
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 May reddened nervously and laughed a little with 
 a kind of happy embarrassment, as though she 
 half begged to be let off from the exhibition. Al- 
 ways, when Emma posed her and turned her 
 around to show off her gown, she rustled back 
 to the elder sister's side with a shy instinct to 
 hide. 
 
 "Pretty swell, eh, Johnny?" Emma commented, 
 admiringly. "Don't she belong to it, all right?" 
 
 "Charming!" said Pound, smiling. 
 
 May stooped and passed her hand lightly down 
 the delicate, shining fabric. He perceived how 
 wonderfully dear it was to her. 
 
 "As you say, it exactly belongs to her," he 
 added, for he felt that a sense of obligation em- 
 barrassed her. 
 
 She glided swiftly to him, looking earnestly up 
 in his face. "You know I thank you," she said, 
 breathlessly. "I never had anything pretty until 
 I came to you. Thank you Johnny." The man's 
 heart expanded. 
 
 Emma and May had not returned from 
 Chicago alone. A young man named Tommy 
 
 Watrous came with them. As Emma explained, 
 
 206
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Tommy was that cashier in the bucketshop of 
 Hilpricht & Co. who had given her the tip that a 
 detective was on their trail. She had encountered 
 him in Chicago by chance. Hilpricht & Co. had 
 gone up and Tommy was out of a job. So Emma 
 had told him to come along; Pound would find 
 a place for him somewhere. 
 
 Watrous was a mere youth, hardly as old as 
 Emma, slim and of rather effeminate appearance. 
 A faint, girlish pink lingered in his smooth cheeks. 
 He had deep blue eyes, and the yellow hair curled 
 over his forehead. Pound accepted him good- 
 naturedly and gave him a minor position. Soon, 
 however, Tommy won advancement. The rapid- 
 ly-expanding business of the bucketshop constantly 
 required more bright men, and Pound was not 
 long in discovering that Tommy, in spite of his 
 girlish blue eyes and curly hair, was very bright. 
 Tommy was a frequent visitor at the swell apart- 
 ment ; indeed, was fairly at home there. On this 
 social side he was not only good company, but 
 quite useful. If Pound didn't come home to 
 dinner which happened rather often Tommy 
 was company for the ladies. Or if Pound and 
 
 207
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Emma spent an evening out when it was not ex- 
 actly convenient to have May along Tommy could 
 take her to the theatre. 
 
 Some time before May appeared Pound had 
 begun to live much more freely if not, on the 
 whole, more commendably. Several resorts of 
 the sporty and extravagant began to know him 
 familiarly. Presently, when he dropped in after 
 office hours, there would be somebody to call him 
 familiarly by his first name. Sociability progressed 
 rapidly in that atmosphere. When half a dozen 
 of them were seated comfortably around a table, 
 and a waiter whose deferential expectancy was 
 proportioned to the liberality of their tips stood 
 by, the order might be small beer or highballs or 
 a magnum of champagne, just as it happened. 
 The talk was very much of baseball, horse-races 
 and prize-fights and the odds thereon. 
 
 There was "Doc" Lester, a huge man of forty, 
 with popping gray eyes and a neatly-trimmed 
 brown beard neatly dressed also, save for an 
 enormous diamond ring whose composed, delib- 
 erate air gave additional force to his broad jokes. 
 The "Doctor" was really a flourishing bookmaker 
 
 208
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 and poolroom operator. He occupied another 
 of the swell apartments at the Cleopatra, and his 
 good-natured wife was soon on friendly terms 
 with Mrs. Pound. There was Mullens, the rich 
 horseman, very red and fat, consuming re- 
 markable quantities of liquor, bestrewing his 
 crimson path with banknotes. There was wiry 
 little Pemberton, who had a Jewish name before 
 he made a pile in timber land, drinking abste- 
 miously and always badgering the others to make 
 bets with him, which he usually won. 
 
 It was by no means an exclusively masculine 
 sociability. Quite often the Lesters, the Mullenses 
 and the Pounds, or some four of the six, made 
 up a little party, took dinner downtown and went 
 to the theatre. In the most expensive dining- 
 rooms they were well known and had the best ser- 
 vice, for they spent money liberally. Sometimes 
 Mullens had the crowd out to his own big house 
 for dinner. 
 
 Now, Emma really liked good-natured Mrs. 
 Lester. But this social life, as a whole, she really 
 didn't like. Aside from her keen interest in busi- 
 ness, her tastes were quite simple and domestic, 
 
 209
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 and her mind was essentially of an orderly, eco- 
 nomical sort. It disturbed her to see Mullens 
 give a ten-dollar bill for a tip, much as an immoral 
 act disturbs an orthodox person. No matter how 
 much money one had, she couldn't see the sense 
 in just throwing it away. Two bottles of cham- 
 pagne for six or seven persons might be well 
 enough; but when it got up to four she was an- 
 noyed. This was not altogether on the ground of 
 cost, either. She knew well enough it wasn't 
 really good for her husband to be sitting up night 
 after night guzzling champagne. She knew, at 
 the same time, an objection from her would carry 
 little weight. In the general interests of the firm 
 she deemed it rather better that she should go 
 along than that she should stay at home. 
 
 By personal preference she would often have 
 stayed at home. The riotous Mullenses especially 
 were distasteful to her. Mrs. Mullens had grown 
 stout and middle-aged, but seemed to nourish a 
 delusion that she could conceal both facts the 
 one by violent lacing, the other by powder, paint 
 and hair dye. Mullens himself she regarded as 
 merely a pig. Sometimes toward the end of an 
 
 210
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 evening he told stones that offended her, for 
 aside from business she was a quite proper, con- 
 ventional person. In these parties May was not 
 included. Without the subject ever having been 
 mentioned, Pound himself realized keenly that the 
 general Mullens flavor, toward the end of an 
 evening, was not at all suitable for her. 
 
 Yet Pound seemed to take increasing de- 
 light in this sporty and bibulous company. About 
 as eften as not he failed to come home for dinner. 
 Then, sometimes, he would leave the office ab- 
 ruptly in the middle of the afternoon, come 
 straight home and spend the whole afternoon and 
 evening there very quietly and gently. 
 
 He would watch May make some foolish thing 
 with a bit of cloth and colored-silk threads, crack 
 jokes at her, trying to make her open her brown 
 eyes wide with surprise ; trying to make her laugh 
 low and sweetly; noting the nervous, graceful 
 little turnings of her head, her little starts and 
 faint blushes, as of a fluttered bird; furtively and 
 long watching her full, tender lips and chin. 
 
 Something astonishing had happened to him. 
 He was very successful, fast becoming a million- 
 
 211
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 aire. Yet in the hour of accomplishing the only 
 success he had dreamed of he had been secretly 
 stricken down to the ground. At first he would 
 hardly believe it. Such a thing had happened to 
 him only once in his life, and that long ago. He 
 felt he wasn't the sort of person to whom it would 
 happen again. 
 
 It was a month after the incident of the new 
 evening gown that he knew past doubting. Going 
 home in the middle of the afternoon, he found 
 May alone there. That was a thing that had not 
 happened before, as she and Emma were almost 
 constantly together; yet, certainly, it was a thing 
 that might well happen any day. Nevertheless 
 as he saw her in the sitting room alone, his heart 
 swelled up into his throat as though he had been 
 a smitten, callow youth. For a moment he could 
 not trust himself to speak. Then they talked just 
 as they had often talked before about nothing 
 in particular. She laughed at his brotherly jokes, 
 swaying toward him a little, her head to one side, 
 blushing slightly, showing all her white teeth. She 
 wouldn't sing for him. Oh, no! She shook her 
 head, laughing. Perhaps she would some other 
 
 212
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 time. That was really all. They heard Emma 
 come in, and he betook himself to the room they 
 called the library. Standing by the window and 
 staring blankly out, he heard his wife's brisk, 
 cheerful, businesslike voice. It grated on his 
 nerves like a file. 
 
 "Why didn't I wait?" he thought with despair. 
 "I might have married her!" 
 
 Then he was filled with a sullen, angry sort of 
 shame. An absurd thing to happen to him as 
 though he were a green youngster. 
 
 Presently, crouching in the library with his 
 wounds, he heard another voice in the living room 
 the youthful, merry voice of Tommy Watrous. 
 He heard May laughing freely, as she hardly 
 ever laughed with him; heard her cry out, her 
 sweet voice rising in a plea and a command. He 
 imagined that Tommy had played some familiar 
 trick upon her. . . . This young, pink-cheeked, 
 curly-headed Tommy! Naturally he and she 
 would understand each other! 
 
 That was another misery, helping to drive him 
 often into the sporty company of the Lesters, the 
 Mullenses and their like ; helping to keep him up 
 
 213
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 to all hours, opening champagne. His money 
 couldn't make him happy. So he took a vengeful 
 pleasure in burning it up. 
 
 In the office he was often abominably domi- 
 neering and irascible mostly from that constant, 
 smothered rage because, after all, he couldn't 
 make his dream come true. Nevertheless, he was 
 always notably considerate of Tommy Watrous, 
 always spoke courteously to him, treating him as a 
 favorite. Indeed, before Tommy he felt a subtle 
 humiliation which made him fairly deferential, 
 for Tommy was the victor, the abler, fitter man. 
 He planned, with an exquisite suffering, to do 
 something handsome by Tommy if he should 
 marry May. Then he heard, with joy, that 
 Tommy was engaged in a quite different amorous 
 enterprise, and at once he raised Tommy's salary 
 prodigally. 
 
 He became almost feverishly restless, impa- 
 tient of nearly everything but especially im- 
 patient of his very patient wife. He seemed not 
 to wish to talk with her, and any opposition from 
 her made him lose his temper. 
 
 For a long while more than five months, in 
 214
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 fact Emma was quite at loss. For all her 
 shrewdness she couldn't understand what ailed 
 the man. In time she talked it over frankly with 
 Tommy Watrous, who was very often at the swell 
 apartment and who usually knew about what 
 Pound was doing. She was really at a loss for a 
 long time. 
 
 She and May came home from downtown one 
 afternoon, and May happened to walk into the 
 sitting-room first. She wore a very pretty dress, 
 with a wrap and hat that became her exceedingly. 
 The crisper air made her eyes sparkle and gave 
 a warmer color to her cheeks. Pound was in the 
 sitting-room, a prey to nameless lonesomeness and 
 gnawing dissatisfaction. He turned his head 
 quickly as she entered, and the inexplicable charm 
 worked. A joyous flood swept over him. 
 
 "Oh, Mayl" he cried with delight, and started 
 toward her heedlessly. There is no telling what 
 might have happened, for at the moment the man 
 had quite lost self-control. But he took only a 
 couple of steps and stopped abruptly. 
 
 May herself had drawn back, her lips apart, 
 rather startled at this brotherly joke. But that 
 
 215
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 was not what stopped him. Emma stood on the 
 threshold, looking him full in the face. He made 
 a clumsy joke, at which May laughed a little ner- 
 vously. But Emma's 'dark, steady eyes drew his 
 own. He had to look at her; and he reddened, 
 for he saw that at length she had seized his secret. 
 Obviously, it was not a secret that made for do- 
 mestic harmony. 
 
 Pound hardly knew what did happen the next 
 few minutes. He found himself puttering idiot- 
 ically around the centertable, speaking at random. 
 Then he sneaked off to the library, half expect- 
 ing that Emma would follow and accuse him. He 
 felt again that sullen, angry shame. Why should 
 this fate happen to him, making him act like a 
 moonstruck, babbling youth? Presently he left 
 the house. By that time he was full of causeless 
 and defiant wrath against Emma. She might, he 
 assured himself bitterly, go to the deuce, for all 
 he cared. 
 
 Emma heard him go, but had not the slightest 
 wish to intercept him. She saw to it first that 
 May was put quite at ease. Then she became 
 very thoughtful indeed. 
 
 216
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 The next afternoon Tommy Watrous dropped 
 in at the swell apartment, as he had a habit of 
 doing. Pound had charged him to tell Emma that 
 business had called him to Chicago; he might be 
 gone for some time. Tommy delivered the mes- 
 sage casually. As casually Emma received it. 
 Tommy had another and, apparently, a more sig- 
 nificant bit of news. That day, for the first time, 
 the bucketshop's total bank roll reached one mil- 
 lion dollars. 
 
 "A million dollars," Emma repeated, musing, 
 her dark eyes veiled by long lashes. "Well, 
 Tommy," she commented rather absently, "that's 
 some money. I believe I could live pretty com- 
 fortably on a million dollars." She glanced up at 
 Tommy, a slight, enigmatical smile lurking at the 
 corners of her lips and in her brooding eyes. "I 
 don't know but I'll try it," she added softly. 
 
 217
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 HOW THE PARTNERSHIP WAS DISSOLVED 
 
 POUND staid away for two months. From 
 Chicago he went to Toronto, Buffalo, 
 New York; then to Omaha and the Pa- 
 cific Coast, inspecting the bucketshop's branch 
 offices, looking out for promising new locations. 
 In his absence a slow-and-sure lieutenant named 
 Patterson was nominally in charge at headquar- 
 ters; but Emma constantly kept a capable eye 
 upon business. Every day Tommy Watrous re- 
 ported to her all that happened. 
 
 After two weeks, Pound wrote his wife, briefly, 
 mentioning nothing but business. She replied and 
 thereafter they corresponded quite regularly, but 
 only about business. He wrote her, from Seattle, 
 that he would be home before Thanksgiving. She 
 was not by nature a vengeful or contentious per- 
 son. By preference her ways were the ways of 
 peace. She had, all around, a certain loyalty to 
 
 218
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 the partnership, and with something like a sense 
 of duty to it, she acted. That is, she sent May 
 back to Chicago, liberally provided with money, 
 to spend Thanksgiving and the holidays. She was 
 willing to receive her partner without prejudice. 
 
 Pound returned the day before Thanksgiving, 
 and they met calmly, with only a little embarrass- 
 ment. She didn't like his looks. They suggested 
 that he hadn't been treating himself any too well 
 during this two months' absence. She seemed to 
 feel at once that he had known May would be 
 gone. He did not ask after her; neither of them, 
 in fact, mentioned her. Also, she seemed to feel 
 at once that they were not going back to the old 
 footing. Profound disappointment still bit him. 
 She saw it in his restless eyes. She had no doubt 
 that he would accept eagerly the invitation to the 
 Mullenses' Thanksgiving dinner; was quite pre- 
 pared for the anticipatory lighting-up with which, 
 indeed, he heard of it. 
 
 The dinner was the usual expensive, prodigal 
 affair. Yet an unwonted air of genteel self-con- 
 sciousness pervaded it. Even Mr. Mullens was 
 reduced to innocent conversation upon the respec- 
 
 219
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 tive merits of the tables at various New York 
 hotels. He carefully said "blamed" instead of 
 the more vigorous word which came naturally to 
 his candid lips. Warned by his wife's meaning 
 eye, he stopped at the second bottle of champagne 
 for the entire party, whereas his own normal 
 capacity was about two bottles. Such was the 
 refining influence which was imposed by the pres- 
 ence of Mrs. Eileen Morrison. 
 
 For more than a month Mrs. Morrison had 
 been a guest of Mrs. Mullens, to whom she was 
 distantly related. At first sight Emma, reading 
 her with sure feminine intuition, felt toward Mrs. 
 Morrison the honest antipathy of a dog for a 
 cat a pretty, willowy, pouting, cuddly creature, 
 whose whole capital lay in her complexion, her 
 coppery hair, her teeth and dimples; a creature 
 good for nothing but to wheedle and whimper 
 and waste, with just brains enough to trick out 
 her pretty person. That she was so eminently 
 proper and conventional was, in Emma's con- 
 temptuous view, merely a part of her poor little 
 stock in trade ; it went along with her hair and her 
 carefully-unnatural manner of showing all her 
 
 220
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 small white teeth when she smiled. Emma had 
 no doubt that in the legal proceedings which had 
 separated her from the unknown Morrison she 
 had appeared impeccable and received the sym- 
 pathy of a masculine court. 
 
 Even before that introductory evening was 
 over, Pound was paying noticeable attention to 
 Mrs. Morrison, and within a month his attentions 
 became noticeable to the point of recklessness. 
 Emma watched their progress unprotesting, but 
 with a dark little smile. 
 
 She was philosopher enough to be acquainted 
 with the unromantic fact that, very often, if a 
 man falls in love and the girl refuses him, he 
 promptly marries some other girl because a 
 hunger has been evoked in him and Nature her- 
 self prompts him to satisfy it. She knew that a 
 man whose romantic sentiments have been power- 
 fully aroused, but left without an object upon 
 which to discharge themselves, is as dangerous as 
 the traditional "unloaded" gun that explodes the 
 moment any one gets in front of it. She knew, 
 also, that Pound had fallen helplessly and hope- 
 lessly in love with May. That unappeased hun- 
 
 221
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 ger lay in his heart, and now came an object suf- 
 ficiently comely to attract it. She really gave 
 Eileen no credit at all; but regarded her with 
 unmixed contempt. 
 
 Not that there was a thing in the conduct of 
 Mrs. Morrison at which even a jealous spouse 
 could properly have taken umbrage. She merely 
 smiled as Pound persisted in talking to her 
 taking care to turn her shining head now and 
 then so as to bring Mrs. Pound into the conversa- 
 tion and graciously bent her shoulders when 
 Pound took the wrap from an attendant to invest 
 her with it. Certainly the poor young woman 
 couldn't prevent anybody who liked from looking 
 over her shelfful of wares. 
 
 But Emma was not at all looking for pretexts. 
 She had a habit of going squarely to the main 
 point. 
 
 It was in the latter part of January that Pound 
 came to her with his project of a party. He tried 
 to make it appear incidental merely an amusing, 
 inconsequential idea that had just occurred to him, 
 in which her interest would equal his own. It 
 would be a small, yet rather notable party. He 
 
 222
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 proposed to hire the banquet room in the hotel. 
 After dinner there would be a vaudeville perform- 
 ance, with the best professional talent procurable. 
 
 Emma listened without comment, then asked 
 calmly: "Who you going to invite, Johnny?" 
 
 "Oh, just a dozen or so anybody you like," 
 he replied magnanimously. "Doc Lester and his 
 wife, of course." He named some others. "And 
 the Mullenses." 
 
 "And Eileen?" Emma inquired with ominous 
 quiet. 
 
 "Oh, of course Mrs. Morrison. We couldn't 
 ask the Mullenses without asking her," he said, 
 as though, otherwise, he would have left her out. 
 
 "Eileen don't come to any party of mine, 
 Johnny. I don't stand for her," said Emma very 
 coolly, looking him steadily in the eye. So, there 
 it was, dragged right out of its lair and laid 
 stark between them. Such was Emma's method. 
 
 Naturally, Pound lost his temper. He was 
 exasperated, for one thing, because she wouldn't 
 play the game according to rules. She had no 
 excuse in the world for objecting to Eileen, ex- 
 cept the one grand excuse that he was falling in 
 
 223;
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 love with her which he knew, and she knew, and 
 he knew that she knew. He bluffed and jeered. 
 Wasn't Mrs. Morrison perfectly respectable? 
 Wasn't her conduct always above reproach? 
 Wasn't she a perfect lady? Was Emma getting 
 jealous, then ? But he might as well have thrown 
 feathers at a rock. 
 
 Presently Emma spoke calmly: "Why do I 
 object to her? Well, she is a perfect fool, for one 
 thing. She hasn't any more brains than a cat. 
 She couldn't fool any bright woman for a minute. 
 She's stringing you along because she wants your 
 money." 
 
 That, spoken with perfect calmness, was clearly 
 intolerable. Pound sprang up. "I'll invite her 
 all the same," he exclaimed. "You can come to 
 the party or stay at home, just as you please." 
 
 He was going to fling out of the room, but she 
 stopped him. "Wait just a minute," she said, low. 
 She had not left her chair, and her hands rested 
 quietly in her lap. But she looked steadily up at 
 him and the look held him. Even in his wrath 
 he perceived that she was angry and no more 
 afraid of him than a ferret is of a rat. 
 
 224
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 "We won't talk about husband and wife," she 
 said after a moment, speaking rather slowly. "We 
 won't mention that at all. But I'm the best friend 
 you ever had, Johnny. I've done more for you 
 than anybody else ever did or will do. I can help 
 you now if you'll let me. I know Eileen like a 
 book. She's a lazy cat that can't do anything but 
 eat and purr and yowl. It makes me sick to see 
 such a cheap thing take you in. You're too good 
 a man, Johnny. That's for mushheads and 
 pikers. She wants your money. Cut her out, 
 Johnny. Just think that over as though some man 
 that had stood by you through thick and thin had 
 said it." 
 
 "Is that all?" Pound inquired mockingly. 
 
 "That's all, Johnny," she replied quietly. 
 
 He walked out. The next day he took a suite 
 at the hotel, and the swell apartment knew him 
 no more. Emma learned that he gave his party 
 as he had planned. The day of the party she sent 
 for May to come back and live with her, and ten 
 days later she sent her husband a note which ran : 
 
 Dear Johnny : I've been looking over 
 a piece of suburban real estate. I think 
 225
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 it's a good investment and would like to 
 buy it. The price is fifty thousand. 
 Yours, EMMA. 
 
 Promptly, with much relief and with some con- 
 tempt, he mailed her a check for the amount. 
 He might have known, he reflected, that it would 
 be simply a question of buying her off. Soon 
 afterward he began taking frequent trips out of 
 town to the Coast, to Chicago, Toronto, New 
 York. Emma and May, meanwhile, lived on 
 quietly at the swell flat, where Tommy Watrous 
 was a constant caller. Hamilton, Pound's old 
 pal, also took to calling there quite regularly when 
 he was in town. He knew a great many odd ad- 
 ventures and droll stories that made them laugh. 
 
 Before the end of February Tommy brought 
 a piece of news which he imparted to Emma as 
 they sat side by side on the davenport in the 
 nobby parlor. He spoke low, for May was in the 
 next room. 
 
 "He's been in South Dakota at Sioux Falls," 
 said Tommy. "He's taken lodgings there for six 
 months." 
 
 Six months was the period of residence re- 
 226
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 quired by the Dakota laws before one could pro- 
 cure a divorce. Emma heard the news as one 
 hears an expected thing. She was not, at the mo- 
 ment, in her usual vigorous health. She had 
 caught cold and was ravaged by the grippe. So 
 the only action she took in response to the news 
 was to pack her trunk. Two days later she and 
 May left for California. In fact, the woman's 
 will was languid. She was not a very sentimental 
 creature, yet the separation from her husband 
 affected her quite deeply. They had been good 
 partners ; together had built up a big concern out 
 of nothing. That he had gone back on her, that 
 the silly Eileen was stepping into her place, did, 
 after all, rather take the fighting edge from her 
 mind. She knew well enough that she could ex- 
 tract a snug little fortune from Pound as the price 
 of a divorce. The idea of travel had always 
 enticed her, even when she saw no possible means 
 of satisfying it. After all, why not just fade out 
 of the situation with a neat competence take her 
 ease and travel? As she boarded the train for 
 California it seemed merely the turn of a hair 
 whether she would ever come back. 
 
 227
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 After a month in California she and May did, 
 indeed, go to Mexico. Travel really delighted 
 her. She enjoyed this novelty of staying at the 
 best hotels, riding about in a carriage, having por- 
 ters and waiters to look after her. With almost 
 no help from books, she got much information, 
 asking questions about everything that interested 
 her, observing, shrewdly apprehending. It 
 seemed, indeed, very doubtful whether Pound 
 would ever see her again for he could mail the 
 alimony to her. 
 
 228
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 BEING AT WAR, POUND FINDS AN ALLY 
 
 FROM time to time, while the sisters were 
 away, Hamilton wrote May a long letter, 
 full of absurd stories. Emma noticed 
 that May kept these letters, reading each of them 
 over several times, and that she spent a long while 
 in answering them. 
 
 Emma herself heard regularly from Tommy 
 Watrous and thus, so to speak, kept a finger on 
 the pulse of the bucketshop. It was an almost 
 monotonous record of success. But the middle of 
 May, Tommy wrote news of a different sort. A ( 
 big row had broken out. 
 
 There was in St. Paul an eminently-respectable 
 commission merchant named Charles Francis Lan- 
 sing, whom Pound had once outrageously gulled. 
 Benjamin F. Totherow, a leader of the bar, had 
 been Mr. Lansing's legal adviser upon that occa- 
 sion, and had felt as deeply outraged as his client. 
 
 229
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Partly inspired by these two, a rather formidable 
 combination of "regular" commission men and 
 brokers had at length been formed for the pur- 
 pose of driving the bucketshop out of the field. 
 This combination commanded much money and 
 large influence among the dominant, respectable, 
 conservative elements of the community. They 
 could count upon help from the banks, the news- 
 papers, the politicians, and, in a general way, from 
 those who were amenable to conservative powers. 
 
 Upon receipt of this news Emma turned north- 
 ward, traveling rather leisurely. She would have 
 been really sorry to see Pound worsted, especially 
 by such foes for she had been long enough in the 
 bucketshop atmosphere to despise the "regulars." 
 But more than that, she had a large, contingent 
 stake in the bucketshop herself. She and May 
 reached St. Paul the first week in June. Arriving 
 early, they drove to a hotel for breakfast. Thus 
 it happened that almost the first person they saw 
 was Hamilton. 
 
 Naturally, Emma began talking to him at once 
 about the fight upon Pound. It occurred to her 
 that the lank, round-shouldered, bushily-mus- 
 
 230
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 tached man was rather embarrassed; but she at- 
 tributed that to the fact that May was sitting 
 silently by. Hamilton told her, however, how the 
 contest was going. The "regulars" had got two 
 of the principal newspapers to pitching into Pound 
 and bucketshops in general in a savage way; they 
 were egging on the banks to cast as much doubt 
 as possible upon Pound's financial standing; they 
 were talking of introducing a very drastic anti- 
 bucketshop bill at the next session of the Legis- 
 lature. 
 
 "How's Johnny taking it?" Emma asked at 
 length. 
 
 Hamilton looked at the floor and colored. 
 "The fact is, Emma," he said reluctantly, "I 
 haven't seen him for a week. I'm fired." 
 
 Emma regarded him in blank astonishment. 
 Hamilton looked up at her, then glanced uneasily 
 at May, yet faced it squarely. 
 
 "You know you can't always depend on me," 
 he said very soberly. She knew, indeed, the old 
 weakness which occasionally overcame him, but 
 for which he might have been a partner in the 
 bucketshop. Hamilton folded his bony hands and 
 
 231
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 looked back at the floor. He would have given 
 a good deal if May had been out of the room; 
 but he took his medicine. "I got soused a couple 
 of times this spring. Of course, Johnny's jumped 
 on me for that before. But he's been pretty 
 savage lately; temper seems to be going back on 
 him. So the second time that was last week 
 he fired me." 
 
 Emma stared at him almost incredulously. It 
 would be difficult to say whether Pound's action 
 shocked her most because it was so ungenerous, or 
 because it was so grossly impolitic. For Hamilton 
 knew the bucketshop from the ground up, as no 
 other person except Pound and herself knew it. 
 To the "regulars" he would be invaluable. For 
 Pound to cast him out at this juncture was utter 
 recklessness. Without stopping to consider that 
 she was already out of the bucketshop herself, she 
 said confidently : "I'll see that he takes you back, 
 Ham." 
 
 Hamilton had no doubt of her good will. Per- 
 haps he doubted her power. At any rate, he only 
 looked up at her in a troubled way, and Emma 
 understood there was something behind. May 
 
 232
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 seemed to understand it also, for in a moment 
 she slipped away to the other end of the hotel 
 parlor. Emma bent forward eagerly. 
 
 "How did it happen, Ham? I don't under- 
 stand it," she said. 
 
 "Why, I met Johnny on the sidewalk in front 
 of the Savoy," he said, under his breath. "He 
 was just coming out from dinner. I felt affection- 
 ate toward him, you know, and I guess I acted it. 
 I suppose I made a scene. I sort of remember a 
 crowd gathering. You see, Johnny wasn't alone. 
 He had a lady with him. Probably the lady 
 wasn't looking for publicity might seem sort of 
 indelicate and improper, you know, to be found 
 taking dinner with him. I suppose it made her 
 crazy, and Johnny, too. Next morning he sent 
 me a note, firing me." 
 
 Then Emma understood. She could imagine 
 Eileen's rage at being made conspicuous in the 
 vulgar position of taking dinner alone with the 
 gentleman whom she proposed to marry as soon 
 as he was divorced. This ruthless and impolitic 
 sacrifice of Hamilton enlightened Emma also 
 painfully as to the extent to which Pound's in- 
 
 233
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 fatuation had progressed. There had never been 
 an instant when he would have done so foolish 
 a thing to appease her. 
 
 It sent her into a coil of thought, so that she 
 scarcely noticed Hamilton. He got up, in fact, 
 hat in hand and moved in an embarrassed, un- 
 certain way toward the door. Then he hesitated, 
 coloring a little, and looked over his shoulder. 
 May was at the other end of the long parlor, 
 bending over a potted plant in the window; but 
 she glanced up in time to catch his eye, then 
 quickly looked down again. Hamilton fumbled 
 unhappily with his hat, hesitated and tugged at 
 his red mustache; finally shuffled slowly toward 
 the door; but stopped half way and looked back. 
 May was still examining the plant. She did not 
 look up this time, and he stood, foolishly, study- 
 ing the crown of his hat. In a moment she began 
 to drift slowly down the side of the room, paus- 
 ing to look up at the pictures, but never looking 
 toward him. In a moment more, he stepped into 
 the corridor and there stood beside the doorway, 
 hoping, uncertain, in a joyous misery, fumbling 
 with his hat and again tugging at his mustache. 
 
 234
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 At length, she slipped swiftly through the door, 
 gliding in front of him. "Don't do that, Ham! 
 Don't 1" she whispered, her brow contracted. And 
 before he could open his mouth she turned and 
 slipped into the parlor again like the wheel and 
 dip of a bird awing. 
 
 Emma had not moved. She was still intently 
 thinking it over. A full quarter of an hour 
 passed before she made up her mind. Then she 
 went straight to the bucketshop. It had been near- 
 ly six months since she had entered that once-famil- 
 iar place, and quite five months since she had 
 seen her husband. She walked composedly to the 
 private room, and found him sitting at his desk. 
 
 But it was not the old, simple desk. It was 
 a handsome affair of carved mahogany, mounted 
 with silver. A cut-glass vase on top of the desk 
 held a bouquet of roses. The simple table had 
 been replaced by a companion-piece to the desk, 
 and there were new chairs to match. The table 
 stood on an Oriental rug which as she judged 
 at one swift, comprehending glance must have 
 cost a couple of hundred dollars. The same 
 glance took in the man at the desk. It struck 
 
 235
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 her that he had gained flesh, and the gain was 
 not to his advantage. His face seemed fuller and 
 redder. Certainly his hair was cut shorter, which 
 made the little patch of gray at the temples show. 
 He wore a freshly-pressed suit of very light 
 brown, marked off into checks by darker stripes, 
 and fine silk socks and low shoes with broad, silk 
 laces. He was not coatless now, as formerly in 
 warm weather, but vestless. His expansive shirt- 
 front, of fine linen, was covered with dainty little 
 plaits. She felt a sort of angry disgust. This 
 well-stuffed, betailored creature was not Johnny 
 Pound, the winner, but just an ordinary, rich 
 bounder. However, she had come there to talk 
 business. 
 
 "How are you, Johnny?" she said, in a calmly 
 friendly manner, and took the chair at the end of 
 the desk as unconcernedly as though that had been 
 her unbroken custom. She saw that he regarded 
 her with surprise and in wary uncertainty, so she 
 continued in a matter-of-fact manner: 
 
 "You're getting a divorce, you know. Why 
 can't we settle up quietly in a businesslike way and 
 have it over with? I'm willing." She made it, 
 
 236
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 indeed, a simple, business proposition, and as 
 such, after a moment's hesitation, Pound received 
 it. 
 
 "Very well, I'm willing," he said coolly, and 
 waited for her proposal. 
 
 "I've been having a good time traveling in 
 Mexico," she said. "I want to go to Europe. 
 I've always wanted to travel, and now there's no 
 reason why I shouldn't. All I want is enough 
 money to keep me comfortably. I'll take a couple 
 of hundred thousand dollars." 
 
 That was a large sum. It was, in fact, twice 
 as large as the sum he had in mind. But this 
 fight with the "regulars" put him at a disadvan- 
 tage. It was clearly within her power to inter- 
 vene in that fight in a manner highly inconvenient 
 to himself. More than that, out of the six 
 months' purgatorial period which separated him 
 from Eileen he had already gained four. He 
 would pay very handsomely if only Emma would 
 keep quiet and do nothing to postpone the divorce. 
 
 "I'll tell you what I'll do, Emma," he said after 
 a moment, in a manner as businesslike and free 
 from unfriendliness as her own. "I'll give you 
 
 237
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 twenty-five thousand dollars down, and a hundred 
 and seventy-five thousand when I get the divorce.'* 
 
 That might seem like a reflection, yet it was, 
 after all, mere ordinary business precaution. 
 Nobody paid the full amount until the goods were 
 delivered. So she said calmly, "That will be 
 satisfactory, Johnny," and waited for him to fill 
 out the check. She glanced over the instrument 
 with an experienced, businesslike eye, folded it 
 neatly and dropped it in her handbag. So that 
 was settled. 
 
 "They're trying to put you out of business," 
 she observed, taking up her second subject. Pres- 
 ently they were discussing the fight. 
 
 Now, for the "regulars" Pound had some con- 
 tempt, but not too much. He knew well enough 
 that their combination was rather formidable. 
 In their behalf two influential newspapers were 
 pitching into him, hammer and tongs. Many 
 of the banks were ready enough to cast doubt 
 upon his standing. He suspected that even the 
 Norse National, while properly anxious to retain 
 his profitable account, was not really infatuated 
 with him in its heart. Its natural leanings would 
 
 238
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 be rather toward the regular, conservative, con- 
 ventional crowd. Except for such service as he 
 could buy in one way and another, he stood prac- 
 tically alone. It was his brains and money against 
 the field. But here was an ally, this woman, with 
 her swift, clear, adroit mind, her unshaken cour- 
 age, her surefooted judgment. Presently they 
 were discussing the fight almost as in the old days. 
 Before leaving she had little trouble in showing 
 him that he must take Hamilton back. It wouldn't 
 do to throw him over to the enemy, and he could 
 be kept out of town a good part of the time. 
 
 Indeed, when Emma left, Pound discovered 
 that something of a load had been lifted from 
 his mind. He had been quite confident before, 
 yet the feeling that reinforcements were at hand 
 was pleasant. He had no trouble in explaining 
 to himself her interest in the fight. In the first 
 place, she now had a stake of a hundred and 
 seventy-five thousand dollars in the bucketshop. 
 In the next place, he knew that she delighted in 
 the fight for its own sake. Its atmosphere drew 
 her as tradition unwarrantably says the sounds 
 of battle do a warhorse. 
 
 239
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 The second reason was, perhaps, the more com- 
 pelling. As a matter of fact, Emma did delight 
 in the fight. It gave her exercise for her talents. 
 Only three days later she returned to the bucket- 
 shop with an idea she wished to lay before him. 
 Thus, without any prearrangement, she fell into 
 a way of visiting his office quite often, talking the 
 thing over with him, debating, devising and 
 scheming. Within a month all the threads of the 
 affair were as completely in her hands as in his. 
 
 Pound discovered an opportunity to get con- 
 trol of a moribund afternoon newspaper by ad- 
 vancing some ninety thousand dollars to pay its 
 most pressing debts. The Evening Common- 
 wealth enjoyed, in fact, only very limited circula- 
 tion or influence at home. But its statements in 
 the bucketshop's behalf would count out in the 
 country if copies were judiciously distributed 
 through the branch offices. Pound took over the 
 sheet, and Emma urged him to deliver a frontal 
 attack through it. Presently, therefore, the Com- 
 monwealth published a long and circumstantial 
 account of how Mr. Charles Francis Lansing, the 
 eminent "regular" commission merchant, had 
 
 240
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 bucketshopped his customers' orders through 
 Pound. Of course, it gave Pound's version only; 
 but the detailed record of the bucketshopped 
 trades, with dates and prices, looked quite con- 
 vincing. Indeed, several of Mr. Lansing's cus- 
 tomers, who recognized their own trades in the 
 published list, reproached him severely. Alto- 
 gether, the publication drove Mr. Lansing half 
 frantic. His attorney, Benjamin F. Totherow, 
 brought suit against the bankrupt Commonwealth 
 for five hundred thousand dollars' damages 
 whereat Pound and Emma enjoyed a hearty laugh. 
 Emma was especially happy in such counter- 
 strokes as these, which, while they may not have 
 advanced Pound's cause materially, brought vast 
 confusion to the enemy. When her fighting 
 blood was up she had a kind of malicious, half- 
 apish mischievousness. She insisted that they 
 ought to have a man in the enemy's camp. Surely 
 there was somebody sufficiently respectable to 
 gain the "regulars' " confidence and sufficiently 
 venal to appreciate a substantial check. She and 
 Pound together presently worked out a trap into 
 which the "regulars" fell. 
 
 241
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 There being no law by which the bucketshop 
 could be suppressed, the chief hope of the "reg- 
 ulars" lay in undermining its credit. By skillful 
 maneuvering the notion was at length spread 
 among them that the concern's financial position 
 was really dubious. Pound's silence, as the two 
 newspapers which most vigorously supported the 
 "regulars" questioned his solvency with increas- 
 ing boldness, tended to confirm this view. So did 
 the reports which Pound's stoolpigeon brought 
 them. They insisted that the bucketshop, which 
 confessedly was holding the margin money o 
 thousands of customers, should submit to an ex- 
 amination as to its solvency. When the demand 
 had been iterated in such a manner that it could 
 not be retracted Pound abruptly complied with it, 
 inviting a committee of bankers and brokers to 
 see for themselves whether he was broke. 
 
 He had, of course, been preparing for it. For 
 some time his bank balance had been running 
 down smartly. He rather suspected that the 
 Norse National had not been guarding that secret 
 as carefully as it should. But the money had by, 
 no means been lost. On the contrary, he had been 
 
 242
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 buying Government bonds with it. Therefore, he 
 exhibited to the very respectable and much disap- 
 pointed investigating committee seven hundred 
 thousand dollars in Government bonds, and state- 
 ments from his various banks showing that he had 
 more than four hundred thousand dollars in cash 
 on deposit. 
 
 The Evening Commonwealth published on its 
 front page a large photograph of the imposing 
 heap of bonds, together with fac-similes of the 
 bank statements and of the report which the com- 
 mittee much to its chagrin had been compelled 
 to sign. The exhibition was so unusual that it 
 was quite generally noticed in the press, while 
 Pound distributed broadcast copies of that issue 
 of the Commonwealth. Also, he had big photo- 
 graphs of the bonds, the bank statements and the 
 committee's report handsomely framed and hung 
 conspicuously in every one of his branch offices. 
 The result was quite a boom for the bucketshop. 
 In the popular mind Government bonds had long 
 connoted wealth in its most solid, respectable and 
 enduring form. The bucketshop's great heap of 
 those securities carried conviction. 
 
 243
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Immediately following the exhibition Pound 
 sold two hundred thousand dollars of the bonds. 
 The other five hundred thousand he kept. They 
 were nice things to have perfectly secure, yet 
 convertible into cash at a moment's notice. Some 
 such thought he expressed to Emma about a fort- 
 night before the exhibition. A fat bundle of the 
 bonds had come in by express from New York, 
 and Pound was opening them personally. He 
 liked to handle them ; liked the feel of the strong, 
 crisp paper so much like that of a new banknote ; 
 liked to look at the rich brown steel engraving 
 which also bore such a resemblance to money. 
 To his mind, also, these engraved sheets sug- 
 gested wealth in an impregnable form. While he 
 was thus engaged Emma chanced to step in. He 
 smiled a little, as though he had been caught play- 
 ing with a toy, and pushed a handful of the toys 
 across the desk for her to play with. Emma took 
 up the handful of bonds, examining them with 
 an emotion identical with his own. They were 
 money in its final manifestation; they were human 
 aspiration cashed in and reduced to a tangible 
 shape. 
 
 244
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 "Nice things to have," Pound commented, smil- 
 ing a little. "I'm going to salt down about half a 
 million of 'em and hang to 'em. It will be pleas- 
 ant to know they're there in case it should rain 
 some day." 
 
 To such an open, friendly, even intimate foot- 
 ing had they naturally come in the course of the 
 summer's fight with the "regulars." Yet their 
 footing was strictly with reference to business. 
 Emma had a stake in the bucketshop, and the fight 
 gave her that opportunity to exercise her ability 
 which she naturally craved. And Pound found 
 in her a highly-valuable ally. That was all- 
 There was no sentiment about it. She simply 
 came to the office like any other person who had 
 business with the head of the concern. 
 
 The committee's report marked a crucial point 
 in the fight, comparable to a battle which ends a 
 season's campaign. This report was made the 
 sixteenth of August. Exactly a week before that 
 an awkward thing had happened. 
 
 Eileen had been spending the summer since 
 the first of June with the Mullenses at their Lake 
 Sorel place. Pound went out there every Friday 
 
 245
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 afternoon, returning Monday except that, occa- 
 sionally, even when the fight with the "regulars" 
 was pressing, he couldn't bring himself to go 
 away before Tuesday. But early in August busi- 
 ness unexpectedly called Mr. Mullens back to 
 town. Mrs. Mullens decided to come with him. 
 Eileen wrote that she would arrive on the ninth. 
 Now, before going away Eileen herself had occa- 
 sionally dropped in at the office hence the Orien- 
 tal rug, the daily bouquet and the silver-mounted 
 mahogany. Pound had told Eileen that Emma 
 had gone away for good, and had not deemed 
 it necessary to inform her that Emma had 
 returned. The possibility that they might meet 
 made him nervous. 
 
 Luck favored him for a while. Then, the very 
 day when he displayed his heap of wealth to the 
 discomfited committee Eileen and Mrs. Mullens, 
 driving down to get Pound, saw Emma leaving 
 the office. The ladies did not go in; but the 
 veteran Mrs. Mullens promptly took steps which 
 brought indubitable information that Emma had 
 been a frequent visitor at the office during three 
 whole months. 
 
 246
 
 BE SWOBE SUE SHOULD NEVER SET FOOT IS THE OFFICE AGAIN. 
 
 Pag* 24<
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Eileen did nothing unladylike. With one 
 white hand she repulsed Pound, while with the 
 other she held a lace handkerchief to her pretty 
 blue eyes as she bowed her shining head and wept 
 convulsively. 
 
 Infatuation is a peculiar thing. Before this 
 weeping woman the man who had faced many 
 grave perils with clear brain and iron nerves 
 simply went out of his head. He paced the room 
 in despair and distraction, stammering out expla- 
 nations and protestations. He clenched the nails 
 into the palms of his hands, beat his fists together, 
 gnawed his lip until the blood came. At mo- 
 ments he actually wept himself. He lied wildly; 
 declared Emma had lost the fortune which he had 
 given her and was trying to badger him into giv- 
 ing her more ; swore she should never set foot in 
 the office again. 
 
 Still Eileen wept. With a sweet little sob be- 
 hind the lace handkerchief, while her pretty shoul- 
 ders shook, she mentioned brokenly the unfath- 
 omable faith which she had reposed in him. She 
 had really, it seemed, returned with the Mullenses 
 in order to buy wedding garments. She had 
 
 247
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 thought their marriage was only three weeks ofi. 
 
 She had looked forward and now 
 
 Distracted, clean out of his head, Pound 
 plunged into the room which Mullens called his 
 study because he so often drank highballs there. 
 Tearing a sheet of letter paper in two and throw- 
 ing away the half which bore the Mullens mono- 
 gram in gold, Pound wrote a note and super- 
 scribed an envelope to cover it. Returning, he 
 finally coaxed Eileen to read the note. It' ran: 
 
 Mrs. Pound: You will not enter my 
 office again on any pretext. This is 
 positive. I will instruct the office force 
 accordingly. JOHN POUND. 
 
 When Pound left an hour later Eileen was 
 smiling a little, like an injured but forgiving angel. 
 The note which Pound had written and the en- 
 velope directed in his own hand were under the 
 sofa pillow. 
 
 Thus the hour in which Pound triumphed so 
 signally over his enemies nearly coincided with 
 the hour in which Emma received this peculiar 
 testimonial of his gratitude. She had seen Eileen 
 and Mrs. Mullens drive up to the office the day 
 before. She understood the history of the note, 
 
 248
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 even recognizing the Mullens stationery. In 
 effect, if not in form, she knew Eileen had dic- 
 tated it. She was not a weak vessel, but Pound's 
 infatuation and baseness really made her sick. 
 That valiant organ, her heart, turned lumpish 
 and ached. Like a mighty blow to a strong 
 fighter, it so hurt her that it made her limp, 
 actually took the fight out of her. She sat brood- 
 ing, and for almost the first time in her life ex- 
 perienced a feeling of helplessness. Her con- 
 tempt for Pound was so complete that to combat 
 him seemed mean, like striking a cripple. 
 
 In the afternoon she went downtown to do 
 some shopping. She had been thinking and think- 
 ing in a circle from which only one outlet ap- 
 peared. She didn't want to fight Pound. He 
 wasn't worth it. She simply wanted to get away 
 to go traveling. That thought appealed to her 
 more and more strongly. It seemed intolerable 
 to sit around there, as in a painful dungeon, even 
 for three weeks. She wanted to get away at 
 once. She could hardly wait to feel the pull of 
 the wheels beneath her. She revolved this thought 
 
 249
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 with higher and higher desire. Then she remem- 
 bered that Hamilton was in town. 
 
 Why not ? Why not let Pound deposit the hun- 
 dred and seventy-five thousand dollars to Ham- 
 ilton's order, to be paid over to her when his 
 decree of divorce was signed early in September? 
 Then she and May could pack that evening. The 
 very next day they would leave for Chicago, New 
 York, Europe, the world ! 
 
 It was characteristic of her to go straight to 
 the object when she had made up her mind. Ab- 
 sorbed in this notion of getting away, therefore, 
 she turned about and walked directly to Pound's 
 office without a collateral thought. 
 
 She entered by the side door from the corridor. 
 With a merely mechanical glance over the main 
 room she saw Hamilton sitting behind the coun- 
 ter. The lank man saw her, too; sprang up and 
 hastened to the little gate by which one entered 
 the space behind the counter. It occurred to her 
 in a vague, mechanical sort of way that he meant 
 to intercept her; but the impression touched 
 
 merely the surface of her mind. Absorbed in her 
 
 250
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 idea she walked briskly to the private room and 
 entered. 
 
 Pound was not there. The chair before the 
 silver-mounted desk was empty. But the chair at 
 the end of the desk was occupied by Eileen, in 
 a picture hat and a delicate summer dress of 
 blue and white silk with much lace on it. Emma 
 herself was very plainly dressed in a brown linen 
 skirt, shirtwaist, and sailor hat that cost four 
 dollars. She had been quite economical in dress 
 that summer, as her finances were not settled. So 
 the two women confronted each other. 
 
 It was quite natural for Emma to despise Eileen 
 on general grounds, as a useless, spendthrift 
 creature, depending on dimples, hair and a pow- 
 der rag to take her through the world. It was as 
 natural for Eileen to despise Emma on grounds 
 equally general, as a vulgar, dowdy, mannish sort 
 of person without any style. And each of them 
 had plenty of special reasons for hatred. 
 
 Eileen, moreover, felt exceedingly sure of her 
 position just then. She derived strength, after 
 the manner of her kind, from the consciousness of 
 
 251
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 being stunningly gowned. Emma was dressed 
 like a workman's wife. That superficial fact mis- 
 led Eileen's superficial mind. In Emma she saw 
 merely an outcast person. 
 
 She arose quickly, her silken skirts murmuring 
 and stiffened with supercilious indignation. 
 
 "What are you doing here?" she demanded 
 as she would have spoken to a kitchenmaid whom 
 she found loitering in the parlor. 
 
 "I came to see Mr. Pound," said Emma very 
 quietly, almost humbly. Her dark eyes, veiled 
 by long lashes, were fixed upon Eileen's face. In 
 fact, they had focused upon that pretty object the 
 moment she entered the room. 
 
 "He isn't here," Eileen retorted angrily. 
 "Hasn't he told you that he doesn't wish to see 
 you?" Emma's humility, instead of mollifying 
 Eileen, evidently increased her temper. 
 
 "I'll wait for him," said Emma with a kind 
 of dogged humility, and took a hesitating step 
 forward. 
 
 "I tell you he doesn't wish to see you. Go 
 
 away," said Eileen imperiously, drawing herself 
 
 252
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 up and blocking Emma's path to the vacant chair 
 in front of the desk. 
 
 Whereat a kind of malicious, or even devilish, 
 lightning played in Emma's heart, and she slipped 
 her handbag from the right hand to the left. For 
 many years her physical experience had been of a 
 perfectly seemly, peaceable sort. Yet she hadn't 
 been brought up on Desplaines Street for nothing. 
 
 "I'll wait for him," she repeated in her dogged 
 humility, and bowed her head a little and stepped 
 forward so that her skirt brushed Eileen's. 
 
 Quite in a rage at this impudence Eileen 
 stamped her shapely foot, put out her dimpled 
 hand and gave Emma's shoulder a smart little 
 push, exclaiming: "Go away, I say!" 
 
 Instantly, like the turning on of an electric 
 light, she saw a wicked smile flash upon Emma's 
 face. That was all she really did see until she 
 was wildly clutching at the desk to keep herself 
 from falling, then half sinking, half rolling into 
 Pound's vacant chair, her picture hat over one 
 ear, while a spot on her left cheek stung and 
 
 burned. 
 
 253
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Emma stood looking down at her with the 
 wicked smile. She had owed Eileen a great deal, 
 and she had endeavored to pay it all in that one 
 punch. She knew she was badly out of training; 
 yet she felt an immense, a fairly blissful, satisfac- 
 tion. 
 
 To this tableau Pound entered rapidly. Strid- 
 ing back into the office to rejoin Eileen he had 
 seen Hamilton standing in the middle of the floor, 
 staring aghast at the doorway to the private 
 room. Also, he had seen three or four clerks 
 behind the counter craning their necks to peer in 
 the same direction. This scene of rapt attention 
 had instantly dissolved. Hamilton had suddenly 
 straightened up, thrown back his head and opened 
 his mouth as though he were going to shout with 
 laughter, but uttering no sound; then he had 
 doubled over and slapped his lank leg gleefully. 
 Pound was vaguely aware of a somewhat similar 
 movement on the part of the peering clerks. His 
 mind misgave. He rushed to his room. 
 
 Eileen was dazed. A trustful infant that had 
 touched a button and set off a broadside of artil- 
 
 254
 
 lery could not have been more paralyzed. Her 
 big, blue eyes, staring with amazement and terror, 
 saw Pound's burly figure appear in the doorway. 
 Much like the infant, she stretched her arms 
 toward him and wailed: "Johnny, she struck me I" 
 
 It was not Eileen alone that occupied Pound's 
 mind. The mirthful Hamilton and grinning 
 clerks occupied it, also. Fury possessed him. He 
 laid a big hand on Emma's shoulder, drew her 
 violently toward him and hurled her from the 
 room. Her right shoulder struck sharply against 
 the door jamb. She went staggering, almost fall- 
 ing, into the main office, Pound following her in 
 speechless rage, his face contorted. 
 
 Hamilton really thought the man would kill 
 her, and sprang forward, stretching out an ex- 
 postulary palm. "Oh, I say, Johnny I See here, 
 now!" he protested. 
 
 So Pound turned to Hamilton ferociously and 
 flung himself upon him with the rush of a mad 
 bull. Hamilton was far from a physical match 
 for him at any time. Now, there was hardly a 
 contest. Pound struck him savagely, caught him 
 
 255
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 as he reeled, and flung him to the floor like a 
 sack of grain. Standing over him he gasped: 
 "Dog! Sot! Hog!" He showered epithets dis- 
 jointedly in thick accents, as though each were 
 thrown from a gun upon both Hamilton and 
 Emma. He ran to the door, flung it wide, ran 
 back, pushing them along with rough thrusts of 
 his hands, driving them out, gasping insults. 
 When they were across the threshold he slammed 
 the door shut behind them. 
 
 Eileen was still somewhat dazed, yet she had 
 hastily rearranged her hat and hair and put a 
 handkerchief over the bruised spot on her cheek. 
 Bending forward she stared out at the conflict 
 with wide eyes. She was thinking: "What a 
 mighty man he is, and I control him!" 
 
 Emma knew they were out in the corridor; 
 that her right shoulder ached. She was going 
 to tell Hamilton that his face was bloody, but 
 someway the impulse could not communicate itself 
 to her tongue. She was walking out blindly upon 
 the flagging when Hamilton drew her back to 
 
 the archway. He got out a handkerchief and 
 
 256
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 wiped the blood from his face, she watching him 
 blankly, vaguely wondering what he wanted. 
 
 "Wait here, Emma," he said in a moment, "un- 
 til I can get a cab for you." 
 
 She waited obediently in the archway, looking 
 dully out at the passing people, without under- 
 standing why she was there. Beside the cab, 
 when it drew up, she paused a moment, trying 
 to drag up something that stirred dully in her 
 mind ; then motioned Hamilton to enter the vehi- 
 cle with her. As they drove along he put the 
 handkerchief to his bleeding cheek. She was 
 going to offer her handkerchief, but again the 
 impulse could not reach her tongue. They drove 
 to the Cleopatra, and he went to bathe his bruised 
 face. 
 
 When he came back and sat down Emma be- 
 gan speaking abruptly. "I didn't go there to 
 make any trouble, Ham," she said almost plain- 
 tively. "I just wanted to settle up with him and 
 go away. I didn't go to make trouble. I meant 
 to leave him alone not bother any more." Al- 
 most mechanically she put her hand up to her 
 
 257.
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 aching right shoulder. "He oughtn't to have 
 done that to me, Ham," she went on, with that 
 odd, almost plaintive note in her voice. "Johnny 
 Pound, Ham my old partner he oughtn't to 
 have struck me." 
 
 Hamilton regarded her almost with awe, for 
 in her dark eyes tears actually glistened. 
 
 She winked the drops out of her eyes and gave 
 her head a slight shake. "I didn't mean to fight 
 him," she went on; "I meant just to go away. 
 I've always wanted to travel. But now, Ham, 
 I'm going to break him. I'll throw him out of 
 there without a dollar. I'll strip him to the 
 bone." She spoke without vengeful exultation, 
 as though it were a role which Fate had laid upon 
 her. 
 
 258
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 AT THE FLOOD OF FORTUNE 
 
 THE decree of divorce which separated John 
 and Emma Pound was signed September 
 ninth. On the twelfth Pound received by 
 
 messenger the following note : 
 
 ^ 
 
 Dear Sir: Please send me my check 
 for $175,000 by the fourteenth. May 
 and I are all packed up. We will leave 
 for Chicago the fifteenth. From Chi- 
 cago we go on to New York, and sail 
 for Europe the twenty-first. Shall ex- 
 pect the check by the fourteenth without 
 fail. 
 
 Yours truly, EMMA POUND. 
 
 Pound threw the note in the waste-basket. He 
 was still in a mighty rage against her. One thing 
 in particular he could not forgive that is, that 
 Hamilton and half a dozen of his clerks had 
 seen her strike the lady whom he was about to 
 marry, and had laughed over it. That laughter 
 rankled deep in his heart. He couldn't very well 
 
 discharge the whole office force, but he could 
 
 259
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 teach Emma a lesson. He had already given 
 her fifty thousand dollars to buy real estate with, 
 and twenty-five thousand in cash. She had all 
 that was due her or that she was going to get, he 
 told himself vengefully. 
 
 About noon of the fifteenth he received another 
 note, also by messenger. It read : 
 
 Dear Sir: Mrs. Emma Pound, lately 
 your wife, has placed in my hands 
 for collection her claim against you for 
 $175,000. Your certified check for 
 that amount, if received within twenty- 
 four hours, will be accepted in full 
 settlement. Otherwise my client will 
 immediately take certain steps for the 
 enforcement of this and other claims. 
 If you wish a personal interview you 
 can arrange by telephone to meet me in 
 my office almost any time during the 
 usual business hours. 
 
 This note was signed by Benjamin F. Tothe- 
 row. That eminent attorney hated Pound cor- 
 dially. He was chief legal adviser of the 
 combination of "regular" brokers which had been 
 trying its best to put Pound's bucketshop out of 
 business. The note, therefore, gave Pound pause. 
 He hadn't thought of Emma's going to Tothe- 
 row. He could readily see that an offensive and 
 
 260
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 defensive alliance between herself and the attor- 
 ney would be quite perilous to him. With a 
 disagreeable feeling that his flank had been turned 
 he arranged for an interview with Totherow. 
 
 He and the lawyer had met before especially 
 upon the notable occasion when Pound's deal with 
 Mr. Lansing was wound up so signally to the 
 disadvantage of the latter. But on that occasion 
 Pound had held the trumps. This time Mr. 
 Totherow received him with a supercilious bland- 
 ness which was hard to bear. Pound proposed 
 to compromise, and mentioned fifty thousand dol- 
 lars as the utmost sum which -he would pay 
 Emma. The skinny lawyer actually smiled with 
 anticipatory joy. 
 
 His client, he said, had instructed him not, 
 under any circumstances, to accept a single penny 
 less than the full amount of the claim. He added 
 candidly that, as Mr. Pound doubtless surmised, 
 he personally would be tickled to death if Mr. 
 Pound should refuse to pay. In that case he 
 could proceed with the legal steps which his client 
 instructed him to take. 
 
 Pound knew perfectly well that nothing would 
 261
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 please Mr. Totherow better than an opportunity 
 to pitch into him under Emma's capable direction. 
 "What sort of steps?" he demanded angrily. 
 
 The first step, said Mr. Totherow with an ex- 
 asperating smile, would be a suit to set aside the 
 recent decree of divorce. His client would prove, 
 for one thing, that the divorce was procured by 
 collusion. What other steps his client would take 
 he did not feel bound to disclose. 
 
 In fact, in inducing Pound to settle Mr. Tothe- 
 row did not go an inch beyond the strict letter of 
 his instructions. He had no doubt that if Emma 
 would cooperate with the "regulars" the path of 
 the bucketshop man would be made very stony. 
 This constituted the dreadful weakness of Pound's 
 position. And with a suit in the courts attacking 
 the validity of his divorce spun out interminably 
 by postponements, appeals, rehearing and such 
 legal devices his marriage with Eileen might be 
 put off a year. Finally, therefore, he left with 
 Mr. Totherow a check for a hundred and seventy- 
 five thousand dollars together with a collection 
 of hearty but silent curses which the attorney, con- 
 sidering how much baffled wrath they expressed, 
 
 262
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 would really have been delighted to hear. Pound 
 hoped fervently that Totherow would charge 
 Emma an extortionate fee not knowing that! 
 Emma had, to begin with, thriftily made an agree- 
 ment covering that point. 
 
 He learned that Emma and May left St. Paul 
 the fifteenth. Then good-natured, loquacious 
 Mrs. Lester mentioned to him that she had re- 
 ceived a line from Emma, written at New York 
 the day before the sisters sailed. Afterwards, at 
 intervals, Emma wrote Mrs. Lester from various 
 places in Europe sometimes only a picture post- 
 card, sometimes a letter of several pages. Mrs. 
 Lester had a not uncommon passion for partici- 
 pating in a secret, especially one of a romantic 
 nature. She always found occasion to let Pound 
 know, in a confidential aside, about these com- 
 munications. For his part, Pound generally 
 found an opportunity to drop in at Mrs. Lester's, 
 soon after one of these letters came, and then she 
 would give him the letter itself to read. 
 
 There was nothing romantic in Pound's motive, 
 however. It was purely precautionary. And 
 there was nothing in the letters themselves which 
 
 263
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 he might not read without embarrassment, for 
 Emma never even alluded to him. She spoke 
 only of her travels, of herself and May. She 
 seemed interested in what she saw and quite 
 happy. 
 
 Along in April he noticed, by the published real 
 estate transfers, that Emma's agent had sold the 
 tract of land which she had bought the year be- 
 fore. The price mentioned was sixty thousand 
 dollars, so, evidently, she had made a comfortable 
 profit on the transaction. She was a thrifty per- 
 son. He calculated that she must be worth about 
 three hundred thousand dollars which, surely, 
 ought to satisfy a person of her modest tastes. 
 The week the land was sold Mrs. Lester showed 
 him a letter from Emma in which she spoke of 
 visiting the Orient; after that, she said, she 
 thought she would return to Paris to live, for 
 she liked it there. 
 
 "I don't suppose," she added, "I'll be able to 
 keep May with me much longer. She writes about 
 a pound of letters a week to Toronto. I guess 
 she's got the marrying bug." 
 
 Pound was not surprised at this, for young 
 264 
 
 I
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Tommy Watrous was in Toronto manager 
 there of the bucketshop's branch office. It had 
 long been an open secret to him that shy, gentle 
 May found something very congenial in blue- 
 eyed, curly-haired Tommy. An odd tenderness 
 for the girl a sort of vague, sweet regret long 
 lurked in Pound's own agitated heart. It was the 
 sort of sentiment for her which made him feel 
 generous toward Tommy as her presumptive 
 sweetheart. 
 
 During the fight with the "regulars," when he 
 and Emma had found themselves reestablished 
 in friendly but unsentimental cooperation, she had 
 brought up Tommy's case. She thought Pound 
 ought to give him a boost. He surmised that she 
 was speaking more for May, as Tommy's pros- 
 pective wife, than for Tommy himself. He com- 
 plied at once. It pleased him to be, in a way, a 
 fairy godfather to the young pair. Besides, 
 Tommy was capable enough in a business way. 
 So Pound invested him with the managership of 
 the important branch office at Toronto, where he 
 had been giving a very good account of himself 
 
 ever since. 
 
 265
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 There remained, therefore, this very tenuous 
 little thread between himself and his former wife 
 her prospective brother-in-law was one of 
 Pound's lieutenants. But for more than half a 
 year Emma had been on the other side of the 
 world. He considered the account forever closed. 
 Of Hamilton he had not heard a word in months. 
 The old life was dead and buried. The new life 
 claimed him wholly. 
 
 He and Eileen were married a month after 
 Emma left St. Paul. For two months they trav- 
 eled, combining some business with pleasure, for 
 Pound visited his principal offices at Seattle, Chi- 
 cago, Toronto, Buffalo. Returning to St. Paul 
 he had a surprise in store for his bride. He had 
 purchased a handsome residence, paying sixty 
 thousand dollars for it. Eileen was as delighted 
 as a child. With fond and happy enthusiasm she 
 pointed out what a charming place the house 
 would be with a little altering. 
 
 They took the best suite in the leading hotel, 
 and Eileen devoted herself joyfully to the house. 
 She made a great business of consulting the archi- 
 tect, the landscape gardener, the decorators, the 
 
 266
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 furnishers often, in her pretty impatience, trip- 
 ping sunnily into the bucketshop to take Pound 
 away and show him a plan or a sample of up- 
 holstery. It was the middle of May before they 
 moved into the house. The total investment had 
 then risen to a hundred and five thousand. But 
 Pound paid the bills good-naturedly. In fact, this 
 new notion of being the proprietor of a rich, spa- 
 cious house secretly appealed to him hardly less 
 than to Eileen. It was his patent of aristocracy, 
 the sign and seal of his success. Few local mag- 
 nates had a sweller house than his. 
 
 Taking possession of the house, they gave a 
 dinner party, inviting the Lesters, the Mullenses 
 and a dozen others. The guests, especially the 
 bejeweled women, admired the house and grounds 
 lavishly, showered congratulations upon Pound, 
 drank gayly to his further success. Pound, in the 
 evening dress which he could now wear without 
 any sense of strangeness, received the congratu- 
 lations with urbane composure. It was, indeed, a 
 swell house the indubitable habitation of a na- 
 bob. He glanced complacently about as the guests 
 examined it from top to bottom. Often, espe- 
 
 267
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 cially, his glance turned to his young, pretty wife 
 in her thousand-dollar gown, a rope of pearls 
 around her fair, soft neck, diamonds glittering in 
 her coppery hair. Yes, he had arrived! Every- 
 thing proclaimed his triumphant success I His 
 heart dilated with pride. 
 
 The dinner was expensive. The wines alone 
 cost twenty-five dollars a plate. But if the bills 
 were large he could stand them. It was flood 
 tide with him. His bucketshop was operating one 
 hundred and sixty-two offices in the United States 
 and Canada. A single office that at Toronto 
 had over three hundred active patrons. He was 
 paying the telegraph company eight hundred 
 dollars a day for wire rental and so on. And 
 the game, on the whole, was going his way. The 
 money poured in. Notwithstanding Emma's ali- 
 mony and the disbursements on account of the 
 house, he could command a million four hundred 
 thousand dollars in cash or as good as cash 
 for he still kept the five hundred thousand dollars 
 of Government bonds which he had bought to 
 dazzle the investigating committee with. They 
 had proven a splendid advertisement, and they 
 
 268
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 could be converted into cash at a moment's notice. 
 
 But Pound had another motive for keeping 
 them. He was aware that a considerable element 
 of risk attended his business. The game might, 
 some time or other, turn strongly against him; 
 stocks or grain or both might rise rapidly and 
 continuously when his customers had "bought" 
 great quantities of them. It would be very pleas- 
 ant to have, in all circumstances, that half a mil- 
 lion of Government bonds tucked snugly away, 
 removed from the hazards of the business. If 
 the very worst should come and the bucketshop 
 itself go to pot he would have that half million 
 and the hundred-thousand-dollar home, which he 
 had taken the fond precaution of putting in 
 Eileen's name. Converting the bonds and even 
 the house into prime securities bearing a fair rate 
 of interest, they would have, at lowest, twenty- 
 five thousand a year to scrape along on. The 
 house and the bonds, indeed, gave him a pleasant 
 sense of being impregnably fortified against 
 chance. 
 
 He lost interest in Mrs. Lester's confidential 
 notices of a communication from Emma; no 
 
 269
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 longer took the trouble to call and read the let- 
 ters. On every side his position seemed impreg- 
 nable. His old enemies, the "regulars," appeared 
 to be beaten to a finish. For some time they had 
 not wagged a finger against him. People who 
 had no particular love for him treated him with 
 a very agreeable deference. They had witnessed 
 his power. Not even Luck could undo him. He 
 was insured against her by his unassailable re- 
 serve of bonds and house. 
 
 And he was still infatuated with his wife. He 
 grumbled a little, humorously; but secretly he be- 
 gan to like putting on evening dress almost every 
 day for dinner; being waited upon by an irre- 
 proachable man servant; having a butler to open 
 the door the moment he appeared. Usually they 
 dined out, or had somebody or other to dinner 
 at their house. Especially he liked to have his 
 wife prettier and better dressed than the other 
 women; liked her air in which, he thought, she 
 excelled of being to the habit of butlers born. 
 His life with Emma he not only put behind him, 
 but fairly forgot, as the butterfly may well forget 
 
 the caterpillar. 
 
 270
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE CAT COMES BACK 
 
 ONE afternoon, in the week following the 
 dinner party with which the Pounds 
 opened their new house, two women, 
 neatly but plainly dressed, debarked from a 
 French liner at New York, drove to a small hotel 
 and registered under assumed names. 
 
 Half an hour later, a lank, round-shouldered 
 man with a heavy red mustache dropped in at the 
 modest hotel, scratched "Hamilton" on a blank 
 card and asked that it be sent up to the ladies. In 
 the somewhat shabby hotel parlor the younger of 
 the ladies, entering first, greeted him with shy 
 happiness. Her brown eyes shone. Giving him 
 her hand, faint blushes played over her cheeks; 
 she turned her head and slightly changed the pos- 
 ture of her hands and body with little, nervous 
 movements like those of a fluttered bird. 
 
 271
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 The lank man's eyes glowed down upon her. 
 Presently, hearing a brisk step, he said hastily 
 under his breath and almost solemnly: "Six 
 months, May not a drop I" 
 
 The young lady swayed lightly toward him; 
 her hand brushed his. "I'm so glad I" she 
 whispered. 
 
 At which point the other lady entered some- 
 what older, shorter also, and of fuller figure, with 
 very dark, demure-looking eyes. She was smiling 
 a little, as though a pleasant experience lingered 
 warmly in her mind. She would have come down 
 sooner, in fact, but she had been telephoning to 
 Mr. Thomas Watrous, at the King Edward Hotel 
 in Toronto. The brief conversation seemed to 
 please her. Once or twice she interrupted to say, 
 "That's first-rate," or "That's just right," and 
 before hanging up the receiver she said, "Looks 
 good to me, honey. See you soon." It should 
 be said that she had always called Tommy 
 "honey," even when he was cashier in Hilpricht 
 & Co.'s and she hardly knew him at all. Her 
 
 conversation was always unconventional, but in 
 
 272
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 other respects she was fairly a model of pro- 
 priety. 
 
 She greeted Hamilton very heartily, with a 
 firm clasp of the hand, but her manner on the 
 whole was brisk and businesslike. It was busi- 
 ness, indeed, that occupied her mind as she sat 
 down to talk. Every detail of Pound's position 
 lay open to her as on a checker-board. She had 
 a good many moves to make. 
 
 Not the least breath of any move reached 
 Pound, however. The first of July he and his 
 wife took possession of Mullens' extensive place 
 at Lake Sorel, where he supposed they were going 
 to spend the summer. But in August they went to 
 the seashore. Pound had not expected to go. 
 It was quite inconvenient. It seemed, however, 
 that Eileen's health demanded it. Her physician 
 said so, and she didn't wish to go alone. 
 
 Eileen had grown quite restless. Some dissatis- 
 faction seemed to prey upon her. Pound was 
 encouraged by the physician to attribute this to a 
 nervous state not unnatural in a young, newly- 
 married woman. He had no particular fault to 
 
 273
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 find with her. Almost always she was amiable, 
 and he was still under the strong charm of her 
 pretty person, her many little cuddling, coquettish, 
 enticing ways. Yet he began to suspect a certain 
 defect in her character. Even before July she 
 had noticeably lost interest in the new, fine house. 
 The new greenhouse and the orchids had kept 
 her amused for two weeks, then she had left them 
 to the gardener. The idea of taking the Mullens 
 place at Lake Sorel charmed her when Pound 
 proposed it. But the Mullenses themselves had 
 gone to the seashore, and presently Eileen began 
 to droop and pine for the sea. She didn't wish 
 to go to York Harbor, where the Mullens 
 were, however; but to some different place. She 
 settled upon Mount Desert. That was exactly 
 the spot her health demanded. In short, Pound 
 began to suspect that while Eileen was a dear 
 child, she soon tired of her toys and if new ones 
 were not provided she felt hurt. 
 
 He turned the management of the St. Paul 
 office over to Patterson, therefore, and went to 
 
 Mount Desert with Eileen. He soon found it 
 
 274
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 quite a bore there. He had a daily letter from 
 Patterson and daily telegrams, to which he re- 
 plied, giving advice and instructions. Yet there 
 wasn't much for him to do, and at the end of a 
 fortnight he was thinking he would be glad of any 
 plausible excuse to get away. 
 
 The stock market had been rising since the mid- 
 dle of July, so the bucketshop had been losing on 
 the whole; but these losses were by no means 
 heavy enough to disturb him. The combination 
 of "regular" brokers lifted no finger against him. 
 He was thinking of anything but danger when a 
 reason of the most valid but unwelcome sort re- 
 called him in hot haste to St. Paul. 
 
 In their spacious suite at the seaside hotel, one 
 afternoon, he was going through the daily duty 
 of dressing for dinner, with all the abstracted 
 deliberateness of a thoroughly bored man, when 
 
 a boy brought up the following telegram : 
 
 i 
 
 Office raided by sheriffs as common 
 gambling-house. Some books and pa- 
 pers taken. Furniture smashed. Think 
 
 you better come home. 
 
 PATTERSON. 
 
 275
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Pound, his collar in one hand and the telegram 
 in the other, let out a string of exclamations which 
 so electrified Eileen as to interrupt even the be- 
 loved rites of the toilet. She came hastily from 
 her room, half dressed, her eyes wide with re- 
 proach and alarm, and shut the door behind her 
 to save the French maid's chaste ears from 
 Pound's language. She reproached him for his 
 expressions; pouted and even wept a little over 
 his determination to leave at once. The tears, 
 however, were mostly for the sake of appearance, 
 because of late a number of the men guests had 
 been very nice to her indeed, and Pound had been 
 almost gruff. 
 
 The raid upon the bucketshop was, of course, 
 a bold and malicious stroke by the "regulars." 
 Among them they could muster considerable 
 political influence, to which, presumably, the 
 sheriff was not insensible. The warrant charging 
 that the bucketshop was a common gambling- 
 house had been sworn out by an obscure patron of 
 no financial responsibility. 
 
 Pound instituted suit for damages against the 
 276
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 sheriff, procured an injunction preventing future 
 raids, recovered his books and papers. In short, 
 in a legal way, he promptly regained his ground. 
 But the unfriendly newspapers had made much of 
 the raid. Reports of it had been widely pub- 
 lished. The moral effect upon the customers of 
 the bucketshop was exceedingly bad. A good 
 many patrons withdrew their accounts and a run 
 of considerable proportions set in. Pound sus- 
 pected that' unfriendly eyes had scrutinized the 
 books that had been seized a suspicion that was 
 confirmed when the hostile newspapers published 
 details of the business which he was not anxious 
 to advertise. Moreover, he felt it politic to dis- 
 burse more money here and there for protection. 
 This had always been his policy when he found 
 venality combined with power to injure him. The 
 raid set on a swarm of grafters to bleed him 
 afresh. He calculated in excessively bad humor 
 that in loss of money, business and prestige the 
 raid had cost him somewhere from one to two 
 hundred thousand dollars. And in spite of his 
 bluffing suit against the sheriff he knew that he 
 
 277
 
 really had no recourse. He confessed that he 
 had not credited the "regulars" with ability to 
 deliver so bold, shrewd, well-timed and telling a 
 blow. 
 
 But more remained. In the raid his own desk 
 had been broken open and certain private papers 
 taken. These papers he had been unable to re- 
 cover. Everybody disclaimed knowledge of them. 
 
 He had been home ten days when he received a 
 wire from Eileen reading: "Am leaving for St. 
 Paul this evening; meet me." The unexpected- 
 ness as well as the curtness of the message dis- 
 quieted him. He wondered what could be bring- 
 ing her home. He soon discovered. He had seen 
 her in many melting moods. He now saw her in 
 violent anger. Indeed, he suffered his second 
 really harrowing scene with her. 
 
 For somebody had sent Eileen a little package 
 containing the stubs of Pound's private check- 
 books which had been abstracted from his desk. 
 Those entries upon the stubs which were of a 
 dubious nature were dated before their marriage 
 
 indeed, mostly before their engagement. Yet 
 
 278
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 they sort of turned him seamy side out; and there 
 was the entry of a hundred and seventy-five thou- 
 sand dollars paid to Emma after Emma had hit 
 Eileen in the face. Pound explained as best he 
 could. 
 
 After the scene ended he felt as though he had 
 been run over by a dray. Also, he felt enormously 
 cheap. But aside from all that, an alarming sus- 
 picion possessed his mind. 
 
 He had rather wondered over the shrewd 
 stroke of the "regulars." But in this affair of the 
 checkbooks there seemed a feminine, malicious, 
 apish mischievousness that looked very familiar. 
 As soon as he could get away he hastened to Mrs. 
 Lester. Yes, she had heard from Emma in Luck- 
 now, barely a week before. She produced the 
 letter. The hand was certainly Emma's. It was 
 dated and postmarked in the far Indian town. 
 The writer spoke of going on to China and Japan. 
 So, evidently, Pound's suspicion was unfounded. 
 
 Six weeks later another very untoward thing 
 happened. Somebody tapped the bucketshop's 
 private wire and sent a forged message to every 
 
 279
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 branch office between St. Paul and the Coast. 
 The message said: 
 
 This company will wind up its affairs 
 and retire from business immediately. 
 Close up all local trades at once, on the 
 basis of today's last quotations. Draw 
 on the main office for the balance due 
 customers. 
 
 Usually, of a Saturday, most of the office force 
 left soon after noon; but one telegraph operator 
 and a clerk or two stayed on duty until about four 
 o'clock. This Saturday, however, Pound closed 
 the office at one o'clock in order to give everybody 
 a chance to attend an especially exciting ball game, 
 the closing one of the season. The forged mes- 
 sage was sent out a few minutes after everybody 
 had left the office. 
 
 It made endless trouble. The newspapers got 
 hold of it. A report that the bucketshop proposed 
 going out of business was published broadcast. 
 Local managers at the branch offices began at 
 once notifying customers that trades were closed, 
 in conformity with the bogus instructions. At 
 some points the local banks remaining open until 
 
 four o'clock Saturdays as well as other days 
 
 280
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 cashed the managers' drafts upon the main office, 
 and the money was actually paid back to the cus- 
 tomers. These drafts Pound had to pay. Other 
 customers insisted upon closing their accounts and 
 withdrawing their money even after being assured 
 that the message was a forgery. Temporarily, 
 at least, the message demoralized the bucket- 
 shop's whole Northwestern system, and the with- 
 drawals actually drained Pound of a hundred and 
 fifty thousand dollars in cash. 
 
 Ordinarily, he might not have minded it so 
 much. But the stock market had been steadily ris- 
 ing for more than two months, and he had been 
 as steadily losing money to his customers. With 
 a hundred and sixty-two offices in operation the 
 total of such losses was quite imposing. It was 
 different from the old days. Repeated experience 
 of losses and the many attacks upon the bucket- 
 shop had shaken confidence even among the tall- 
 grass bulls. Now, when their accounts showed a 
 neat profit, they were very apt to demand the 
 money and take it away with them instead of put- 
 ting it back into the game as formerly. 
 
 281
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Luck was frowning upon him persistently. 
 Often he had a disagreeable feeling as of sands 
 shifting and running out beneath his feet. It 
 tended to make him morose. And at the same 
 time Fortune was unkind to him in a quite differ- 
 ent quarter. 
 
 It was some time after Eileen's return from 
 Mount Desert but so gradually he could not say 
 exactly when that a surprising discovery devel- 
 oped. He learned, namely, that his state his 
 elegance and swellness was the merest counter- 
 feit and fraud; that he and Eileen were not the 
 real thing at all, but only the cheapest pinchbeck 
 imitation. This discovery, naturally, was un- 
 folded to him by Eileen. It was a cause of her 
 dissatisfaction, and it subtly humiliated him. 
 They had no social position, and without a social 
 position their swell house and butler were like a 
 silk hat above a ragged coat. 
 
 Eileen, it appeared, had known this all along, 
 and had ardently cherished a hope of converting 
 the imitation into the genuine. For one thing, 
 
 after the return from Mount Desert she had gone 
 
 282
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 in recklessly for charity, imagining she might 
 bribe her way into the real social position without 
 which the fine house was merely a mockery. She 
 had subscribed lavishly to all sorts of philan- 
 thropic undertakings. The ladies took her money, 
 and snubbed her. What she suffered Pound could 
 really not understand, although that was not be- 
 cause she did not use words and tears enough to 
 explain it. 
 
 She herself might have been eligible enough; 
 but Pound's enemies, the "regulars" and their 
 allies, constituted the local aristocracy the suc- 
 cessful people who had made their money in ap- 
 proved conventional ways. These ways might 
 include, for example, larceny of public timber 
 lands; but they were conventional. Naturally, 
 this conventional, conservative element, which 
 was socially dominant, held their social blackballs 
 over Pound. 
 
 In time poor Eileen discovered this. Her hus- 
 band's business might shower gold upon her, but 
 it was a stone wall to her social ambitions. So 
 she conceived a bright idea ; namely, that Pound 
 
 283
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 should convert his bucketshop into a "regular'* 
 house. She was only hurt and low-spirited when 
 he tried to explain to her how impossible that was. 
 And then, she began treating the Lesters, the 
 Mullenses and that sporty set with coolness. She 
 could at least take the mournful consolation of 
 being superior to them. If she couldn't be the 
 real thing she could take a kind of childish spite 
 in refusing any longer to be an imitation. Pres- 
 ently she actually snubbed them. So the swell new 
 house was empty and lonesome. Eileen's un- 
 happy face reproached her morose husband. 
 
 Also, the stock market kept on rising. The 
 bucketshop's losses accumulated until Pound's 
 bank roll, including his half a million of Govern- 
 ment bonds, was down to a million dollars. 
 
 This was the situation when the Legislature 
 met. The "regulars" had long advertised their 
 intention to procure the passage of a drastic anti- 
 bucketshop bill, under which Pound could be 
 driven out of business. Naturally, Pound pro- 
 posed to fight them. His only dependable weapon 
 
 was money, and he employed it liberally. To 
 
 284
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 purchase venality which was clothed with power 
 had always been part of his policy, pursued with a 
 reckless coritemptuousness. In the preliminary 
 skirmishes concerning this anti-bucketshop meas- 
 ure he had disbursed some thirty thousand dol- 
 lars, using any agencies that seemed likely to bring 
 results. 
 
 Before the meeting of the Legislature he had 
 been waited upon by Colonel Myron Yew, a stout, 
 red-faced, lumpy-nose, elderly person who for 
 some time had been known to him in an incidental 
 way. The colonel was a sport and a lawyer, but 
 his reputation in the former capacity was much 
 better than in the latter. He was commonly 
 known, in fact, as more or less of a shyster, whose 
 principal business consisted of dealing in dirty 
 politics. The colonel mentioned the anti-bucket- 
 shop bill, and his own abilities in a line that would 
 prove profitable to Pound. He came, in short, 
 seeking employment with the utmost frankness. 
 His idea was that certain statesmen, who were 
 amenable to his sapient advice, should be permit- 
 ted to deal in stocks or grain at Mr. Pound's 
 shop, and should also be permitted to win appro- 
 
 285
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 priate sums at the proper moments. In his usual 
 reckless contemptuousness, Pound was well 
 enough inclined toward the proposal. If Colonel 
 Yew could deliver any votes he was perfectly 
 willing to pay a fair-going price therefor. 
 
 Pound foresaw that his bank roll was bound 
 to suffer, and while the question of cash was not 
 really pressing with him, it was certainly pend- 
 ing; for with the stock market booming as it was, 
 and a trade as extensive as his own, the bucket- 
 shop's losses to its customers were assum- 
 ing staggering proportions. At Toronto, espe- 
 cially, although Tommy Watrous had worked up 
 a fine business, and proudly boasted that he had 
 nearly five hundred customers, the losses were 
 killing. In a single week, at all the offices, 
 the loss reached eighty thousand dollars. It 
 seemed not improbable that Pound would pres- 
 ently have to fall back upon his Government bonds, 
 which he had resolved t6 cling to at all hazards. 
 
 But at this juncture, luck signally favored him; 
 and the good luck came precisely from Toronto 
 where his luck had been rather worse than any- 
 where else. 
 
 286
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 HOW LUCK FAVORED POUND 
 
 BEFORE the Legislature had been in session 
 a month Tommy Watrous wrote Pound 
 a long letter, inclosing a lengthy clipping 
 from the St. Jude (Ontario) Daily Intelligencer. 
 The gist of the clipping was that the contest over, 
 the will of the late G. H. Wyman had been decided, 
 the will having been set aside and the estate 
 awarded to Mr. Wyman's two sons, Algernon G. 
 and Henry M. The estate was inventoried at 
 one million eight hundred thousand dollars, 
 mostly in cash and prime securities. "The es- 
 trangement between Mr. Wyman and his sons," 
 the Intelligencer added discreetly, "continued for 
 several years prior to his lamented decease, dur- 
 ing which time the young gentlemen, who now 
 come into this princely inheritance, lived in quite 
 straitened circumstances." 
 
 Algernon G. Wyman, it appeared from 
 Tommy's letter, had been a friend of the man- 
 ager of the bucketshop's small branch at St. Jude. 
 
 287
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 In his impecunious days he had occasionally bor- 
 rowed twenty dollars and bought ten shares of 
 something or other, and had usually lost the 
 money. He appeared to be a flighty, addle-pated 
 young man, considerably addicted to Scotch whis- 
 key and other follies, whom the elder Wyman, 
 presumably, had disinherited for very good rea- 
 sons. But the main point was that Algernon was 
 infatuated with the bucketshop business; thought 
 it the finest possible opening for a capitalist. "He 
 has been talking to me nearly all day," Tommy 
 wrote. "I guess this big wad of money has sort 
 of made him dizzy. He wants to buy out our 
 Canadian offices right away. Of course, I told 
 him to go right up to St. Paul and see you, and 
 gave him a letter of introduction. He has gone 
 back to St. Jude to get his brother. Expect you 
 will see both of them about a day after you 
 receive this. You can size up Algernon in a few 
 minutes. I don't believe he and his money will 
 stay together very long. Don't I get a commis- 
 sion on this?" 
 
 That same afternoon Tommy wired: 
 
 Algernon is still in town ; says he has 
 written you. Don't you think it would 
 288
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 be best to run down here and see him 
 without appearing anxious? 
 
 The next morning Pound received a long, type- 
 written letter on the stationery of the King 
 Edward Hotel, Toronto. It began: 
 
 Dear Sir: Making reference to the 
 conversation had between the under- 
 signed and Mr. Thomas Watrous, man- 
 ager of the office of the Moxley Stock 
 and Grain Company at this place, and 
 also to such communications as may 
 have passed by post and wire between 
 yourself and the said Mr. Thomas 
 Watrous 
 
 The writer, in fact, rambled like an inebriate 
 man on an icy sidewalk. What he had to say 
 was that, upon telephoning his brother at St. 
 Jude, he discovered that Henry had started north 
 on a hunting expedition. He was now trying to 
 reach him by wire and get him to return at once 
 to Toronto, so that both of them could proceed 
 immediately to St. Paul. He begged Mr. 
 Pound, meanwhile, to say whether it would be 
 possible for himself and his brother to buy the 
 Canadian system of the Moxley Stock and Grain 
 Company or to buy a substantial interest in the 
 
 289
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 company itself. In case Mr. Pound was unfavor- 
 ably inclined toward this proposal, he hoped Mr. 
 Pound would not give a positive answer in the 
 negative until he and his brother Henry had an 
 opportunity to talk it over with Mr. Pound per- 
 sonally. He was expecting to have word of his 
 brother almost any moment. This communica- 
 tion was signed Alg. G. Wyman. 
 
 Pound took much care in framing an answer. 
 He judged that he had to deal with a rank sucker, 
 which was all the more reason why he should not 
 expose himself to legal attack. The bucketshop 
 was drifting toward bankruptcy, especially as 
 Pound had sequestrated five hundred thousand 
 dollars of its assets in Government bonds, which 
 he proposed to keep for his own personal use. 
 His task, therefore, was to make Mr. Wyman 
 think the concern was in a highly flourishing state, 
 and to sell him an interest in it on that basis, yet 
 not to commit himself in writing or before wit- 
 nesses in such a way that Mr. Wyman could sub- 
 stantiate a charge of fraudulent misrepresenta- 
 tion. 
 
 In substance, therefore, he wrote that while 
 290
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 the company had been highly profitable the care 
 of conducting it alone was proving injurious to his 
 health ; he realized, too, that if the Messrs. Wy- 
 man, with their ample capital, were minded to 
 go into that business they might set up a com- 
 peting concern. For the sake of having some 
 capable persons associated with himself in the 
 management of the company and to avoid compe- 
 tition he might consent to sell the Messrs. Wyman 
 an interest in the concern. 
 
 Mr. Wyman was very glad, indeed, to hear it 
 as appeared from the long, meandering tele- 
 gram which he at once sent Pound, and the still 
 longer and more meandering letter. In addition 
 to these communications, Mr. Wyman kept 
 Tommy Watrous busy sending messages over the 
 private wire. All the while he was earnestly 
 endeavoring to locate his brother Henry. 
 
 Within two days Pound, at Mr. Wyman's im- 
 patient solicitation, submitted a definite proposal. 
 The capital of the company, as appeared on its 
 letterheads, was one million dollars. It might 
 as well have been ten millions, or ten cents, for 
 Pound owned it all. He offered to sell the 
 
 291
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Messrs. Wyman twenty-five hundred shares, 
 qual to a one-quarter interest, for three hundred 
 and seventy-five thousand dollars, or at the rate 
 of one hundred and fifty dollars a share. With 
 this proposal he inclosed the original statement 
 of that investigating committee before which he 
 had exhibited seven hundred thousand dollars of 
 Government bonds and statements from the 
 banks showing that the company had more than 
 four hundred thousand dollars in cash on deposit. 
 He added, quite truthfully, that a statement of a 
 later date would show still larger resources 
 without adding that a statement of the present 
 date would not show nearly so much. He pointed 
 out that he was sending Mr. Wyman the original 
 report and begged Mr. Wyman to preserve that 
 precious document very carefully and hand it to 
 Mr. Thomas Watrous as soon as he had exam- 
 ined it. 
 
 The answer to this was a wire from Wyman : 
 
 Feel confident of arriving at conclu- 
 sions with negotiations. In signification 
 of same am depositing one hundred and 
 fifty thousand dollars earnest money 
 292
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 with London and St. Lawrence Bank. 
 Have received intelligence of locality of 
 my brother Henry. Expect him here 
 Saturday. 
 
 Half an hour behind this message came a dis- 
 patch from the London and St. Lawrence Bank 
 at Toronto, to the effect that A. G. Wyman had 
 deposited there one hundred and fifty thousand 
 dollars, for the use of John Pound in case certain 
 stock was delivered by Pound to Wyman in a 
 manner satisfactory to Wyman. 
 
 It seemed to Pound high time to strike. The 
 fruit, indeed, was falling into his lap of its own 
 weight; but a quick, dextrous little shake now 
 would bring it down at once, and he was naturally 
 impatient. For the moment things were quiet at 
 St. Paul. He resolved to slip down to Toronto 
 and meet the brothers on Saturday. He could 
 easily invent a plausible excuse for turning up 
 there. Begirt as he was by enemies, it was 
 obviously imprudent, however, to advertise his 
 movements, and he had no great faith in Eileen's 
 discretion. He told her, therefore, that business 
 called him to Chicago. It was only as he was 
 about to take the train that he wired Tommy 
 
 293
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Watrous of his coming. In his own office only 
 Patterson knew his destination. 
 
 On the train Pound kept to his compartment. 
 He wanted to be alone with his thoughts, because, 
 in the main, they were pleasant thoughts, such as 
 suffused his mind with a rosy glow and made his 
 heart beat exultantly. He remembered distinctly 
 the figure of the Wymans' fortune as the St. Jude 
 newspaper had reported it one million, eight 
 hundred thousand dollars, mostly in cash and 
 prime securities. From Algernon's letters and 
 telegrams, to say nothing of Tommy Watrous' 
 description, he had formed a very clear idea of 
 the brothers' character. From the London and 
 St. Lawrence Bank at Toronto he had already 
 received a notification by mail, confirming its ad- 
 vice by wire that Mr. Wyman had deposited a 
 hundred and fifty thousand dollars there, pro- 
 visionally for his use. He really did not doubt 
 at all that he would sell the brothers a quarter 
 interest in the bucketshop for three hundred and 
 seventy-five thousand dollars. 
 
 He counted it up five hundred thousand in 
 Government bonds; three hundred and seventy- 
 
 294
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 five thousand from the Wymans; his house. 
 At least, he would be a millionaire. But three 
 hundred and seventy-five thousand was a mere 
 flea-bite out of the Wymans' pile. Once he had 
 the stupid brothers tied up in a partnership with 
 him, he would trust his luck and genius to make 
 a far bigger inroad than that. The bucketshop 
 itself was not a squeezed lemon by any means. 
 Instead of one million, he might come away with 
 two. 
 
 Never in his life had he been more ruthlessly 
 avid to get money a great deal of money than 
 at this moment. For one thing, it irked him 
 exceedingly that a lot of more or less blockheaded 
 fellows at St. Paul, and their dull, virtuous wives, 
 turned down their thumbs for him and Eileen 
 because he wasn't "regular." He would like to 
 show them, and the whole social scheme, what 
 irregularity really meant; how good an outlaw, 
 since they judged him one, he could really be. 
 But mostly he wanted the money itself-wads of 
 it. In so short a time, riotous expenditure had 
 become a sort of necessity to him, as drink is to 
 some men. He had acquired a subtle disorder- 
 
 295
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 not at all uncommon which drove him to throw 
 money about, to burn it up. He must have a whole 
 suite at the hotel, even if he staid only a day; 
 cabs or hired automobiles must be kept in wait- 
 ing for him; whatever cost the most, he needed. 
 
 Several times of late he had been punished by 
 an excruciating dream. He found himself, in this 
 dream, bending over a telegraph instrument, 
 thumping out messages, with only a few dollars 
 in his pocket and nothing ahead but the lean pay- 
 envelope. Twice he had wakened from this 
 dream in despair, and then comforted himself for 
 a long while by moving his hand across the 
 downy, silken bed quilt and recalling the luxurious 
 objects in the room. He proposed to put the 
 reality of that dream a long way from him, and 
 nail it down. 
 
 Concerning another necessity he frankly had 
 some reservations. Eileen was a silken, luxurious 
 possession, and she could be charming when she 
 chose. Of late, certainly, she had made it any- 
 thing but pleasant, and he perceived clearly that 
 intelligence was never her strong point. Prob- 
 ably she would always make him pay more or 
 
 296
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 less, otherwise than merely in money. Yet she 
 was rather a necessity at least, she or some one 
 like her. Already a plan lay tentatively formed 
 in his mind to put forth all his strength and 
 cleverness; to gather up all the money he could; 
 and then, presently, to go away for a long vaca- 
 tion. He thought of Paris, the Orient, a trip 
 around the world. There Eileen would forget 
 her annoyance against the best people of St. Paul. 
 It might be made very pleasant indeed with plenty 
 of money, and the money was coming to his hand; 
 the Messrs. Wyman were about to furnish him 
 
 with it. 
 
 He left the train at Toronto with all the hot, 
 taut-nerved ardor of a hunter stalking big game, 
 and drove straight to the office. 
 
 But a disappointment awaited him. Tommy 
 Watrous met him apologetically. On Thursday 
 evening, it appeared, Wyman had received the 
 long-expected word from his brother Henry, who 
 was in a hunting camp far up in the Province of 
 Quebec. The word was unsatisfactory; Henry 
 had merely said that he couldn't possibly come to 
 Toronto then. Algernon, thereupon, in his im- 
 
 297
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 patience to close the bucketshop deal and not 
 knowing Mr. Pound was coming, had set out pell- 
 mell to get Brother Henry and bring him back. 
 Tommy showed the note, in Algernon's usual 
 meandering style, which Wyman had mailed him 
 from the train Thursday evening; and the tele- 
 gram from Brother Henry which was inclosed in 
 the note. 
 
 While disappointed, Pound was by no means 
 downcast. No point in the game had been lost; 
 the consummation had simply been delayed a 
 little. His coming, at any rate, gave him an 
 opportunity to get a fuller report from Tommy 
 about the Wymans, and to look about the office 
 a bit. He could take the evening train home. 
 
 Having told Eileen that he was going to 
 Chicago instead of to Toronto, he used the buck- 
 etshop's private wire to inquire, at the Chicago 
 office, whether any message from Eileen to him- 
 self had been received there, and to send her, 
 under Chicago date, a dispatch of conjugal greet- 
 ing. For this purpose he went to the rear of the 
 office where the telegraph operators sat. To 
 notice and remember faces was fairly an instinct 
 
 298
 
 A SALLOW YOUNG MAN W1T1I AN UNUSUALLY LOX<i rillX. 
 
 Pttfje 299.
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 with him. So he noticed the operator who carried 
 out his instructions a sallow young man with an 
 unusually long chin. 
 
 Later in the day, returning to the King Edward 
 Hotel, he saw this same operator climbing into a 
 cab. The vehicle contained another occupant of 
 whom Pound had a sufficient glimpse a swarthy, 
 chubby, jolly-looking little man, whom Pound at 
 once recognized as Billy Brewer, formerly a tele- 
 graph operator in the employ of the bucketshop, 
 who had then been a chum of Hamilton. 
 
 Pound turned sharply on his heel to look after 
 the cab, which was already rolling away. He saw 
 the two men laughing like people on very good 
 
 terms. 
 
 The incident brought a vague unrest to his 
 mind, because Brewer suggested Hamilton, and 
 Hamilton suggested Emma. It occurred to him 
 that the swarthy, chubby, little telegraph operator 
 must have struck oil somewhere, if he could afford 
 to put up at so expensive a hotel. 
 
 Before leaving on the evening train he was 
 again reminded of his former wife. Tommy took 
 an early dinner with him at the hotel, and brought 
 up a personal matter. He wanted a six months' 
 
 299
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 leave of absence. He said he hadn't been well of 
 late although his blue eyes looked as bright as 
 ever and there was still a touch of girlish pink 
 in his smooth cheeks. He had decided to go 
 abroad for a while to Paris, in fact. 
 
 Whereat Pound laughed good-naturedly. He 
 had been thinking very little of Emma lately, but 
 several times Mrs. Lester had confidentially men- 
 tioned the receipt of a letter from Paris. Only 
 the week before, he remembered, Mrs. Lester 
 had quoted to him quite a bit of a newly arrived 
 letter from that capital. May, of course, was 
 with Emma, and that Tommy and May were 
 sweethearts had long been an open secret to 
 Pound. 
 
 So he laughed good-naturedly. "To Paris, eh 
 for your health!" he said. Smiling, he lifted 
 the champagne glass. "Well, here's to the bride, 
 with all my heart, Tommy." 
 
 Tommy laughed in an embarrassed way. 
 "Yes," he said, "that's the truth. I'm expecting 
 to be married." Smiling, with downcast eyes, he 
 added, "I'll tell the bride that you toasted her." 
 
 Pound was quite willing to meet Tommy's wishes. 
 No doubt Murchison, the slow-going, well-recom- 
 
 300
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 mended Canadian who had been Tommy's chief 
 assistant for some time, could run the office well 
 enough. But he wasn't thinking much of the 
 future management of the office. That idea of 
 getting all he could out of the Wymans and then 
 quietly departing had been growing steadily in 
 his mind. At worst, he would have a million, and 
 he might have two. 
 
 The bucketshop was losing money steadily. He 
 was disgusted with having to fight all the time. 
 Eileen, with her unsatisfied social ambitions, made 
 it anything but pleasant at home. To spend a 
 year or two abroad as a leisurely millionaire 
 would be very pleasant, he thought. Over there 
 Eileen would forget that she was not received in 
 the best houses of St. Paul. 
 
 "We'll arrange it any way you like, Tommy," 
 he said good-naturedly. "You can get away any 
 time after this Wyman deal is closed." 
 round, gray eyes looked thoughtfully ahead and 
 twinkled a little as of old. "In fact, I'm going to 
 take a trip abroad myself. I may meet you over 
 there." He was thinking that it would be rather 
 amusing if he should happen to run across Emma 
 
 in Paris. 
 
 301
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 DRAWING IN THE NET 
 
 ARRIVING in St. Paul, Pound spent only a 
 few minutes at the office and even those 
 few minutes he spent impatiently. 
 For a long while the mere physical aspects o 
 that establishment had been a pleasure to him 
 the rosewood counter with its plate-glass screen, 
 behind which the cashiers and book-keepers were 
 stationed; the bank of telegraph operators sitting 
 at their instruments ; the big blackboards ; his own 
 sumptuous little den at the rear. Whenever he 
 stepped in and cast his glance about he derived 
 satisfaction from the view. It was peculiarly his 
 own place; the vantage ground to which he had 
 climbed, on which he triumphantly fronted the 
 world. Its special atmosphere, to which the in- 
 cessant click of the telegraph instruments gave a 
 dominant note of tension and haste, long pleased 
 
 him. 
 
 302
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 But there was no more of that now. His atti- 
 tude toward the office was impatient and contemp- 
 tuous. Already, to his eager mind, the big buck- 
 etshop was only a derelict; a sinking hulk, to be 
 looted and abandoned. His thoughts ran hotly 
 forward. He cut Patterson short, in the middle 
 of a prosy, matter-of-course report in which he 
 really had no interest; went out and hailed a cab 
 and drove home. 
 
 Eileen, very pretty in a lacy morning gown, 
 was surprised to see him, unannounced, at that 
 hour. She arose, a bit dubious, to kiss him duti- 
 fully; but as he came swiftly toward her, she saw 
 his sparkling eyes, his smiling, triumphant air, and 
 brightened at the prospect of pleasant news. 
 
 He began speaking to her at once of the sub- 
 ject on his mind a fine, long trip to Europe, to 
 the Orient, perhaps around the world. 
 
 Eileen was enchanted. "Oh, really, Johnny? 
 Really? To go at once? Do you mean it?" 
 With such pretty exclamations of delight she kept 
 interrupting him, her eyes shining. Again and 
 again, as he assured her and enlarged upon the 
 
 303
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 project, she threw herself into his arms, cuddling 
 against him, exclaiming, bubbling endearments, 
 babbling joyously. It was exactly what she had 
 dreamed of! Of all things it was what she had 
 most wished! She had never even imagined he 
 could have so huge a treat in store for her ! The 
 mass of estrangement which many differences, 
 many bickerings, much dissatisfaction on both 
 sides had raised up between them seemed to dis- 
 solve. They were again as they had been at 
 marriage. 
 
 So presently, Pound went a step further than 
 he had intended. He told her, very confidentially, 
 that he was going to close up the bucketshop. 
 They had plenty of money; she didn't like the 
 business; why should they bother themselves with 
 it? 
 
 This was the crowning touch. Eileen was 
 fairly transported. Her pretty eyes sparkled; she 
 clapped her hands, dimpling and bubbling, smoth- 
 ering him with kisses. 
 
 So, Pound considered it as good as settled. 
 Again he mentally wrote "Finis" to a chapter of 
 
 34
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 his life and turned a new page. He began imme- 
 diately drawing in money from the Seattle, Chi- 
 cago and Buffalo offices, even though that reduced 
 those offices to a rather precarious footing. He 
 opened a dummy account on the bucketshop's 
 books, and by means of this account he trans- 
 ferred the money to Eileen's credit at the Norse 
 National Bank. He proposed to get all he could. 
 There was no use leaving any more than was 
 absolutely necessary for the creditors of the 
 bucketshop to divide. 
 
 Further, he abruptly stopped his costly fight 
 upon the anti-bucketshop bill in the Legislature. 
 It was worth something to tell the leeches who 
 had been battening upon him in that connection 
 to go to the devil, and watch their crestfallen 
 
 looks. 
 
 One leech, however, took it in very bad part. 
 This was Colonel Myron Yew, who, early in the 
 contest, had proffered to Pound his services as a 
 lobbyist. The colonel's small gray eyes twinkled 
 angrily on either side of his inflamed and lumpy 
 
 nose. 
 
 305
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 "What's your game, anyhow?" he demanded 
 with much heat. "What you been up to all along ? 
 What you trying to do with this fellow Ham- 
 mond? D n me if I can see through it I" 
 
 "Hammond? What Hammond? What about 
 him?" Pound inquired with perfect innocence. 
 "I don't know any Hammond." 
 
 The colonel snorted with insulting incredulity. 
 "What did you send him to me for in the first 
 place if you didn't mean to stick? What's he 
 always got a finger in the pie for? Afraid I 
 might hold out a couple of dollars on you?" 
 
 The colonel, in short, insisted that Pound had 
 employed one Hammond as a sercet intermediary. 
 He said that Hammond had originally invited 
 him to call upon Pound and proffer his services; 
 that from time to time Hammond had suggested 
 various moves in Pound's interest; that Hammond 
 had pretended he was acting entirely without 
 Pound's knowledge, but the colonel had been 
 shrewd enough to see at a glance that Hammond 
 was really an agent, or spy, whom Pound had em- 
 ployed to deal with and watch the colonel. 
 
 306
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Pound could make nothing whatever of this 
 strange yarn. Certainly he knew no Hammond. 
 What did the man look like ? 
 
 The colonel snorted again, out of all patience 
 at Pound's persistent duplicity. "What do you 
 look like ? What do I look like ? You don't know 
 him! Oh, no! A bony, smooth-faced, round- 
 shouldered man ! What's the need of your lying 
 tome?" 
 
 At which Pound not unnaturally lost his temper 
 and drove the irate colonel from the office. 
 Thinking it over afterward he could make noth- 
 ing whatever out of it except that it was a weird 
 fie on the colonel's part, invented for some ob- 
 scure purpose. However, he dismissed it from 
 his mind. The colonel might betake himself to 
 the place he was so fond of mentioning; Pound 
 himself would soon be up and away, leaving the 
 whole mess to whoever might choose to stew in it. 
 That happy consummation, he judged, was a 
 matter of only a few days. For his affair with 
 the Messrs. Wyman was progressing finely. On 
 the Monday following his return from Toronto 
 
 307
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 he received a telegram from Algernon at Dablon, 
 Province of Quebec. It said the sender had dis- 
 covered his brother Henry and was forwarding 
 by mail a communication for which he begged 
 Mr. Pound's most friendly and careful considera- 
 tion. The letter arrived duly, couched in Alger- 
 non's usual meandering and circumlocutory style. 
 In effect, it said that Algernon had laid the bucket- 
 shop proposition before Brother Henry, but 
 Brother Henry was somewhat dissatisfied; he 
 thought, in view of their wealth and position, 
 they were entitled to more generous terms than 
 Mr. Pound had proposed; thought, in short, that 
 Mr. Pound ought to sell them a half interest in 
 the bucketshop instead of only a quarter interest, 
 so they should have an equal voice in the manage- 
 ment of the concern. Algernon, in his involved 
 manner, apologized for Brother Henry; hoped 
 to bring him to a more reasonable frame of mind. 
 He thought it well, however, to let Mr. Pound 
 know how Brother Henry felt. Would Mr. 
 Pound kindly wire whether he might possibly be 
 
 brought to sell more than a quarter interest? 
 
 308
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Mr. Pound both wired and wrote to Algernon 
 at Dablon. He himself thought Brother Henry 
 quite unreasonable, and wouldn't think of selling 
 a half interest. However, for the sake of having 
 associates to lighten his crushing managerial bur- 
 dens, and inasmuch as negotiations had gone so- 
 far, and in order to show his hearty good will to 
 Algernon, he would consent to sell four thousand 
 shares instead of twenty-five hundred, which 
 would give the Messrs. Wyman an interest almost 
 equal to his own. He would even let them have 
 that much at the old price of a hundred and fifty 
 dollars a share, or six hundred thousand dollars 
 
 for the block. 
 
 At this concession Algernon was pleased in- 
 deed, as his replies by wire and mail abundantly 
 testified. Although Brother Henry still argued 
 for a half interest Algernon was satisfied he 
 would accept Mr. Pound's really handsome offer. 
 Indeed, the brothers would have been in St. Paul 
 ere the latter arrived, but, unfortunately, Brother 
 Henry was suffering from a badly-sprained ankl 
 which made traveling exceedingly painful. Would 
 
 39
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 it be possible for Mr. Pound to arrange to meet 
 them in Toronto, say, on two days' notice, and 
 close the deal? 
 
 Needless to say, it would; and he fervently 
 hoped the day would be soon, for the game was 
 getting hot now, requiring swift and secret 
 strokes. Fortune was rather forcing his hand. 
 The stock market was booming, and the bucket- 
 shop was losing money as through a sieve. As 
 Pound had recently sequestrated a hundred and 
 fifty thousand dollars of its cash, for Eileen, to 
 say nothing of the old sequestration of half a 
 million which he held in the form of Govern- 
 ment bonds, the concern's position was getting 
 decidedly ticklish. A concerted demand upon it 
 for all the money owing to customers at its many 
 offices would have sent it into bankruptcy unless 
 Pound sustained it by turning in Eileen's money 
 or some of his bonds, which he was resolved not 
 to do. 
 
 He would have preferred to move more 
 leisurely. He would have liked time in which to 
 
 gull the Wymans out of the rest of their money 
 
 310
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 and to get away without any appearance of haste. 
 But one must play the game as it lay, and this 
 game required dispatch. 
 
 His problem was to gather in the Wymans' six 
 hundred thousand dollars, to get that and Eileen's 
 hundred and fifty thousand and his bonds down 
 to New York, there converting the bonds into 
 cash, and remit the whole to Europe, meanwhile 
 holding the shell of the bucketshop together. 
 Then he and Eileen would sail before anybody 
 discovered that the bucketshop was insolvent or 
 that they purposed going. On the other side they 
 could wait, at ease, for the crash. Meanwhile it 
 was highly expedient to avoid leaving in the hands 
 of the Messrs. Wyman any plain evidence by 
 which they could substantiate, in criminal court, a 
 claim of fraudulent misrepresentation. Posses- 
 sion was nine points of the law, anyway. Three 
 thousand miles of salt water made half a dozen 
 points more. Once snugly in Europe, with a mil- 
 lion and a quarter under his hand-unless he laid 
 himself open too grossly-he could laugh at them. 
 To play his hand prosperously required some
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 nerve and dexterity; but he was perfectly confi- 
 dent of himself in both points. A somewhat 
 alarming incident, however, intervened. He and 
 Eileen were still loverlike. He had laid in her 
 dimpled hands three drafts for fifty thousand each, 
 to her order, drawn on New York by the Norse 
 National Bank, and made her a fond little speech 
 and kissed her. Also, he had prepared her for an 
 earlier sailing than had been at first proposed. 
 There was no use waiting, he said; they might as 
 well begin to pack up. But he had a good many 
 malicious enemies who were always looking for 
 a chance to annoy him. He didn't want them to 
 know anything about his plans. So she mustn't 
 mention to anybody that they were going until 
 he gave the word. 
 
 And the very next afternoon he chanced to meet 
 Mrs. Lester on the street. He had always liked 
 that good-natured, loquacious, scatter-brained 
 woman, although they had not seen much of each 
 other since Eileen began treating her shabbily. 
 Mrs. Lester was glad to see him; mentioned that 
 
 she had received a letter from Emma, in Paris, 
 
 312
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 a fortnight before; mentioned also that she had 
 just encountered Eileen on a shopping tour. 
 
 "Going abroad, I understand?" she added, 
 good-naturedly. "Sudden, isn't it?" 
 
 Of course, Eileen simply couldn't forbear the 
 pleasant triumph of letting Mrs. Lester know that 
 they were going to take a long, gorgeous trip 
 around the world although she had been a little 
 frightened afterwards, and impressed upon her 
 that nothing was to be said about it. And of 
 course Mrs. Lester simply couldn't forbear letting 
 Pound know that she knew. 
 
 Hardly anything could have been more danger- 
 ous to Pound, in that juncture, than an advertise- 
 ment of his plans. He went home in wrath; and 
 Eileen, with a gnawing sense of guilt, was already 
 angry with him for having put any such absurd 
 restrictions upon her. They had a bitter quarrel. 
 Eileen wept; demanded to know what he was 
 afraid of that he must skulk away in the dark; 
 declared she had long known he didn't love her 
 anyway; his affections were still fixed upon the 
 vulgar creature to whom he had once been tied. 
 
 313
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 "She was a woman of brains, at any rate," 
 Pound retorted ruthlessly. "Nobody had to tell 
 her when to keep her mouth shut!" 
 
 Whereat Eileen ran away and locked herself in 
 her room. The next day, however, they patched 
 it up after a fashion. Nothing untoward seemed 
 to come from her indiscretion. At St. Paul things 
 were agreeably quiet. 
 
 At Toronto a minor misfortune occurred. 
 Tommy Watrous wired that he had taken a heavy 
 cold; could scarcely hold up his head; must put 
 the management of the office temporarily in 
 Murchison's hands. Pound would have preferred 
 to have Tommy on hand. Nevertheless, there 
 was no immediate need of him, and the news from 
 the Wymans was wholly encouraging. 
 
 That is, Algernon more on his brother 
 Henry's account than on his own forwarded 
 from Dablon a proposal which quite played into 
 Pound's hands. Algernon had showed Brother 
 Henry the figures of the bucketshop's financial 
 standing as they had been disclosed before the 
 investigating committee in St. Paul, long before. 
 
 3H
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Brother Henry thought, however, there should be 
 an exhibit of the concern's assets at the present 
 time. Algernon suggested that Mr. Pound could 
 easily bring his Government bonds and bank state- 
 ments down to Toronto, and exhibit them to him- 
 self and his brother there. At the same time he 
 could bring along the certificates for four thou- 
 sand shares of stock. Thus the whole affair could 
 be closed up in an hour, Mr. Pound delivering the 
 stock certificates and receiving the six hundred 
 thousand dollars of which, as Algernon re- 
 minded him, a hundred and fifty thousand was 
 already lying contingently to his credit in the Lon- 
 don and St. Lawrence Bank. 
 
 Pound readily acceded to this proposal. To 
 prepare for the showing of assets he temporarily 
 borrowed from Eileen the hundred and fifty thou- 
 sand dollars which he had given her, and "kited" 
 it through two banks in St. Paul, two in Chicago, 
 one in Buffalo and the London and St. Lawrence 
 at Toronto, thereby for the time being swelling 
 his account by a hundred and fifty thousand dol- 
 lars in one bank after another. And from each r
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 bank, while the migratory hundred and fifty thou- 
 sand remained in its hands, he procured a state- 
 ment showing the amount of his balance. Thus, 
 a couple of suckers as he judged the Messrs. 
 Wyman to be laying these six bank statements 
 together, would suppose that the bucketshop had 
 over a million dollars cash in bank. 
 
 He was perfectly willing, also, to take his Gov- 
 ernment bonds down to Toronto. They made 
 quite a bulky bundle, and Toronto was nearer to 
 New York than St. Paul was. He intended to 
 exhibit the bonds and the bank statements to the 
 Messrs. Wyman in Toronto before no witnesses, 
 then drop quietly on to New York with the bonds, 
 wire Eileen to join him there, and take ship for 
 Europe. He was confident of being able to slip 
 the bank statements in his pockets and destroy 
 them afterward. At worst, it would be his word 
 against the word of the Brothers Wyman, and 
 while they might be two against one, he thought, 
 if it came to that pinch he could tell a more plausi- 
 ble story before a jury than any dozen Wymans. 
 Above all, he would have more than a million and
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 a quarter of dollars in his hands and possession 
 was certainly nine points of the law as he knew it. 
 
 He returned to Eileen the hundred and fifty 
 thousand dollars which he had temporarily bor- 
 rowed, and advised her to have it transferred to 
 her credit in a New York bank, where in a few 
 moments she could convert it into foreign ex- 
 change. When the time came it would be advis- 
 able for them to move quickly and without dis- 
 play. So he had his wife forward several of her 
 trunks to New York by express. His idea was to 
 go to Toronto, close with the Messrs. Wyman, 
 then slip on to New York and sail. Making 
 these preparations he impatiently awaited decisive 
 word from Algernon. 
 
 That word came by letter from Dablon, reach- 
 ing Pound on Monday. It appointed the follow- 
 ing Thursday as the day of meeting in Toronto. 
 Brother Henry's ankle, Algernon wrote, still 
 troubled him somewhat, but he had agreed to 
 proceed to Toronto and close the deal. Algernon 
 himself was most anxious that there should be no 
 delay. Henry, in fact, had committed the indis- 
 cretion of writing to a gentleman in St. Jude
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 concerning the transaction. This gentleman was 
 an elderly and most estimable person who had 
 been a business associate of their late father; but 
 unfortunately, his ideas were disgustingly narrow 
 and antiquated. He had written that he regarded 
 the Moxley Stock and Grain Company as a most 
 hazardous investment. Of course, the gentleman 
 didn't know anything about it, yet Algernon 
 feared that he might possibly succeed in dissuad- 
 ing Henry if the matter were allowed to drag. 
 
 Picturing the St. Jude gentleman as some hard- 
 headed old merchant or banker, Pound fully 
 shared Algernon's fears. He proposed that the 
 matter should not drag. Arriving in Toronto 
 Thursday he judged that he would be able to 
 leave on Friday at latest. Accordingly, he en- 
 gaged passage to Europe for himself and wife 
 on Saturday's boat, telling Eileen that she should 
 leave for New York on Wednesday evening, and 
 he would join her there Friday. His quarrel with 
 Eileen had not been bootless. Its bitter taste 
 might linger in their mouths, keeping them more 
 or less estranged; but he was confident that she 
 was not repeating the folly of blabbing.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 SOME ACCOUNTS ARE SQUARED 
 
 NEITHER Pound nor his wife left St. Paul 
 that week, however. 
 
 The newspapers of Thursday morn- 
 ing had a sensation. Charges of bribery in con- 
 nection with the anti-bucketshop bill had been 
 made. At a night session the Legislature had 
 appointed a committee of investigation as Mr. 
 Pound was informed by a troop of reporters who 
 come battering at the door of his handsome res- 
 idence about midnight. They seemed to take it 
 for granted that this bribery scandal intimately 
 concerned Mr. Pound. 
 
 The two newspapers that had been especially 
 devoted to the cause of the "regular" brokers 
 in the fight against the bucketshop naturally took 
 the same kindly view. Both of them mentioned 
 conspicuously that, according to common report, 
 Pound's bucketshop had been losing money at an
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 enormous rate of late; gossip concerning its 
 solvency had been heard. And the most bitter 
 of them added, casually, that a remarkable wom- 
 an the first Mrs. Pound had borne a chief 
 share in raising that concern to its former flour- 
 ishing state; when she had been eliminated by 
 divorce, it said, one of Mr. Pound's sporty friends 
 had offered to bet a hundred even that the insti- 
 tution wouldn't last two years. 
 
 This scandal had a very unhappy effect upon 
 Eileen. It gave new edge to all her social dis- 
 appointment. She had been dreaming that, with 
 the bucketshop neatly buried and after a year 
 abroad which might unfold many opportunities 
 for desirable acquaintance the coveted position 
 would be open to her. And here was the detesta- 
 ble bucketshop getting up out of its coffin, one 
 might say, and fastening its slimy hands upon 
 her in public. It reminded her keenly, how irreg- 
 ular, outlawed and ineligible was the person she 
 was married to. At moments she utterly despaired 
 of Johnny. And naturally that reference to Emma 
 as the real architect of her husband's fortune 
 grievously wounded her. She had always been 
 
 320
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 aware of Emma's practical competence, and hated 
 her for it; and here it was publicly thrown in her 
 face. She asked her husband, wretchedly, why he 
 didn't go back to Emma and be done with it. 
 
 This was disagreeable enough ; but Pound had 
 far more than Eileen's low spirits to think about. 
 The attack put him in black humor. He attribu- 
 ted it at once to his old enemies the "regulars." 
 Indeed, he discovered from the reporters who 
 routed him out of bed that Benjamin F. Totherow 
 had been taking a guiding hand in it. This was 
 one more time, then, when the "regulars" had 
 struck him in the shrewdest way at exactly the 
 most inopportune moment. Again he felt that 
 deep sense of insecurity a vague, sickening pre- 
 monition of defeat. This attack reminded him 
 again that in spite of his money he was essentially 
 an outlaw. Otherwise the papers would not dare 
 print such things about him. Well, if he was an 
 outlaw let them look out for him ! 
 
 Bright and early Tuesday morning he was 
 served with a subpoena to appear before the Legis- 
 lature's investigating committee at ten o'clock 
 Thursday morning. To disobey the subpcena 
 
 321
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 would be to invite arrest and bring down upon 
 himself a greater uproar than ever. Naturally, 
 therefore, it would be impossible for him to ap-' 
 pear in Toronto on the appointed day. 
 
 Also, the far-spread nervous system of his 
 bucketshop began at once to show the depressing 
 effect of this blow. Here and there, all along his 
 thousands of miles of private wire, one customer 
 and another was seized with doubt, closed his 
 account, drew out his money. This withdrawing 
 movement was quiet enough, yet its effect was as 
 though a hundred little leaks had opened in a 
 ship that was barely keeping afloat. At this rate, 
 to keep it afloat long was out of the question. He 
 must move fast if he expected to get away before 
 it foundered. Doggedly, and cursing the luck, he 
 meant still to win. 
 
 There was one cheering fact. The Messrs. 
 Wyman, in their remote Canadian village, would 
 hardly hear of this uproar in St. Paul. It was 
 obviously to his advantage that they should not 
 hear of it. The scandal could hardly increase 
 even Algernon's eagerness to buy an interest in 
 the bucketshop, while it would certainly give the 
 
 322
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 conservative St. Jude gentleman greater reason 
 than ever to dissuade the less eager Henry. But 
 that the brothers could remain long in Toronto 
 without hearing the news from St. Paul was out 
 of the question. The bucketshop was even then 
 insolvent. A smart touch at any point would 
 break it. He could not hope to hold the shell 
 together many days without turning back some of 
 the money he had sequestrated which he was 
 resolved not to do. He must move fast. 
 
 He could choose one of two courses. He could 
 postpone the meeting with the Messrs. Wyman 
 taking the risk that they would shy off or he 
 could trust a bit to his star. Tuesday afternoon 
 he received a telegram from Algernon. It said 
 the brothers were preparing to leave for Toronto, 
 where they would certainly meet Mr. Pound on 
 Thursday and close the deal. Algernon hoped 
 Mr. Pound would let nothing interfere with meet- 
 ing them. Their father's friend, he added, had 
 asked Henry, by wire, to come to St. Jude and 
 have a talk with him; but Henry still held to his 
 purpose of proceeding straight to Toronto and 
 
 closing the deal. 
 
 3 2 3
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 This message confirmed Pound's resolution to 
 trust a little to his star. He was already aware 
 that Tommy Watrous had taken to his bed, leav- 
 ing the Toronto office in charge of Murchison, 
 the Canadian. Without entertaining any high 
 idea of Murchison's mental qualities Pound had 
 no doubt whatever of his honesty. 
 
 On Tuesday afternoon, therefore, Pound with- 
 drew his bonds from the safe-deposit vault and 
 made them into a neat bundle, in which he en- 
 closed the flattering but very misleading bank 
 statements that he had prepared for the entertain- 
 ment of the Messrs. Wyman, and certificates for 
 four thousand shares of stock in the bucketshop. 
 This bundle he forwarded by express to the Lon- 
 don and St. Lawrence Bank, with instructions that 
 it was to be held subject to his own orders or to 
 such orders as Mr. Murchison might give in his 
 name. To Murchison he wrote a careful letter 
 of instruction to the effect that when the Messrs. 
 Wyman appeared on Thursday he was to take 
 them over to the bank, exhibit to them the bonds 
 and the bank statements, and then deliver to them 
 the certificates for four thousand shares of stock, 
 
 324
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 provided the brothers at the same time deposited 
 to Pound's credit in the London and St. Lawrence 
 Bank the sum of six hundred thousand dollars. 
 
 Also, he forwarded in Murchison's care a letter 
 for Algernon, expressing his grief at being unable 
 to appear in person and assuring Algernon that 
 the deal might be concluded through Mr. Mur- 
 chison exactly as well as with himself in person. 
 Some disappointed competitors, he explained, had 
 had the audacity to link his name with a dirty 
 political scandal of which he was entirely innocent. 
 This so incensed him that he had resolved to post- 
 pone every other matter, even the weightiest 
 affairs of business, until he had overwhelmed his 
 detractors. 
 
 This, on the whole, seemed to him decidedly 
 his best move. If he were at all lucky the deal 
 would be closed on Thursday, just as originally 
 planned. He had been careful to tell Murchison 
 to put the bank statements back in the bundle with 
 the bonds, returning the whole to the vaults of the 
 bank. But even if Murchison bungled this, or 
 even if the manager, later on, should testify in 
 behalf of the Messrs. Wyman well, he would 
 
 325
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 have the money ; possession was nine points of the 
 law, and his wits were far better than theirs. If' 
 the Wymans demurred to closing the deal with 
 Murchison well, he could only trust to luck. 
 Probably he could keep them on the hook a couple 
 of days longer and get down to Toronto himself. 
 It was part of the ill luck that Tommy Watrous 
 was incapacitated threatened with pneumonia, 
 it seemed. But Murchison was seeing Tommy in 
 his room at the hotel daily ; Tommy at least could 
 advise him. 
 
 Wednesday there was nothing in particular to 
 do but wait for the morrow. It was a nerve- 
 trying day. He had this bribery mess to think 
 about, and the best information he could get gave 
 it an unpleasant look. His scouts brought in 
 reports concerning Colonel Myron Yew. Tothe- 
 row and the reformers, it seemed, were courting 
 that distinguished barrister ; might get him to turn 
 state's evidence. There was one rather puzzling 
 and disturbing factor namely, that yarn the 
 colonel had told him about a go-between, or spy, 
 a fellow named Hammond. What might that 
 yarn signify? Also, there was Toronto to think' 
 
 326
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 about. Again and again he fairly saw the Messrs. 
 Wyman drawing toward that city. What would 
 happen there? Would they take his bait? He 
 "yearned mightily to fly thither himself. He felt 
 with now and again that subtle little quailing in 
 his vitals how completely alone he stood; single- 
 handed against many foes. 
 
 But Thursday began promisingly. By nine 
 o'clock Murchison wired that he had been over 
 to the bank and made arrangements for the use of 
 a parlor, in which to exhibit the bonds, and so on, 
 to the Messrs. Wyman. He understood just what 
 he was to do, and only waited for word from the 
 brothers. Twenty minutes later he wired again. 
 Algernon had just telephoned from the hotel ; was 
 disappointed to hear that Mr. Pound could not 
 be present, but had raised no objection to dealing 
 with Mr. Murchison; said Brother Henry's ankle 
 was better, but he was waiting to have a compe- 
 tent physician examine it; proposed that himself 
 and brother should drive around to the office 
 within an hour. Murchison added that he would 
 at once give them Mr. Pound's letter and take 
 them over to the bank. 
 
 327
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 That was all encouraging as far as it went, 
 yet leaving Pound to a disagreeable suspense. He 
 could wait for no further word, as he was to 
 appear before the investigating committee at ten 
 o'clock. 
 
 The hearing really amounted to nothing. He 
 was called in, asked some questions of a general 
 sort, then temporarily excused and made to sit in 
 a guarded anteroom for two hours. He had a 
 rather unpleasant experience there. Mr. Benja- 
 min F. Totherow passed through the anteroom 
 and went in to the committee. Pound had known 
 well enough that Mr. Totherow, chief counsel for 
 his enemies, the "regular" commission houses, was 
 doing his best to egg on this investigation, which 
 was obviously aimed at the bucketshop. Yet evi- 
 dence that Mr. Totherow was on such familiar 
 terms with the committee was unpleasant, and he 
 hated to have the lawyer grin down at him in that 
 supercilious, sarcastic and triumphant manner as 
 he sat, fairly like a prisoner, in the anteroom. 
 
 Soon after twelve he was again called before 
 the committee, questioned in a general way, and 
 then more particularly as to his relations with 
 
 328
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Colonel Myron Yew. He replied that he had 
 employed Colonel Yew, off and on, to look after 
 various legal matters; had paid him for his ser- 
 vices from time to time; certainly had not em- 
 ployed him to bribe anybody; couldn't remember 
 dates and amounts. During this examination 
 Totherow came in, sitting by like a sarcastic hawk. 
 Again Pound was relegated to the anteroom. 
 There he found a boy from the office awaiting 
 him with a telegram from Murchison. It said 
 simply: "Deal closed; money deposited." 
 
 Glancing at those four words Pound's heart 
 grew light and warm. He folded the dispatch 
 and put it in his pocket, a deep content possessing 
 him. When Totherow strode through the apart- 
 ment an hour later Pound looked up at him with 
 a broad smile. They might all go to the devil! 
 He had beaten them out ! 
 
 He accepted his enforced wait in the anteroom 
 with good nature. The task before him now was 
 the comparatively simple one of gathering in his 
 money, slipping down to New York and fading 
 away. A task so relatively light amused his mind. 
 Thinking how he would do it from time to time 
 
 3 2 9
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 he smiled a little, fairly losing track of the hour. 
 It was, in fact, nearly five o'clock when he was 
 released with an injunction to come back next 
 morning at ten and conclude his testimony. He 
 was already satisfied that the committe had no 
 definite information, but was merely on a general 
 fishing expedition. 
 
 He hastened to the office and found a fuller 
 report from Murchison. The stock had been 
 duly delivered, it said, and six hundred thousand 
 dollars deposited to his credit in the London and 
 St. Lawrence Bank. He found, also, a telegram 
 from Algernon, in which that gentleman congrat- 
 ulated himself and his brother upon the happy 
 conclusion of their deal with Mr. Pound. They 
 had hoped to come on to St. Paul at once, but 
 Brother Henry had a little business in Chicago. 
 They would spend a day or two in that city. 
 Pound resolved at once to intercept them there, 
 appointing a meeting on the following Tuesday. 
 From Chicago he could go to Toronto, gathering 
 up his bonds and money, thence to New York. 
 
 Friday forenoon Pound again appeared before 
 the investigating committee in a long game of 
 
 330
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 battledore and shuttlecock. Over and over they 
 asked him about the money he had paid Colonel 
 Myron Yew, but he could remember nothing 
 definitely. He concluded, in fact, that the com- 
 mittee itself knew nothing definitely. The hearing 
 dragged on with two or three intermissions until 
 after three o'clock. 
 
 He had hardly reentered the office before a 
 telegram came from Algernon at the Annex in 
 Chicago. The brothers intended leaving for St. 
 Paul on Monday. Pound wired back that busi- 
 ness called him to Chicago ; he would meet them 
 there Tuesday. Some incidental conversation 
 relative to the closed deal passed between himself 
 and Murchison over the private wire. Going 
 home Pound told Eileen that he would leave for 
 Chicago Monday evening ; she would meet him in 
 New York Thursday; they would sail Friday. 
 
 He had exactly a million and a quarter, besides 
 the residence. Very likely, when the crash came the 
 creditors of the bucket shop would try to get the 
 house; but it had been in Eileen's name from 
 the first; he doubted that they could hold it. And 
 even if they could hold it, they were welcome to
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 it! The bucketshop, after all, had considerable 
 credit. He judged that it would stand up ten 
 days or a fortnight long enough for his pur- 
 poses. Once he was safely on the other side of 
 the water, with his million and a quarter, let any- 
 body who liked try to dispossess him. 
 
 A million and a quarter! The sense of victory 
 was all the stronger and sweeter because he had 
 to fight so hard for it and all alone ! 
 
 Saturday he chanced to pass Benjamin F. Toth- 
 erow at the entrance of the Norse National Bank, 
 and it required an effort to keep from grinning 
 in that eminent person's face. A week hence, how 
 like an ass Totherow and all the rest of them 
 would be looking! Saturday was an exceedingly 
 busy day. Naturally there were a lot of little 
 things to be arranged. Pound addressed himself 
 to them with feverish activity. He was in the 
 office only twice during the forenoon, and then for 
 only a few minutes at a time. At noon the estab- 
 lishment closed for the day. It was well toward 
 dinner time when he got home. 
 
 "Well," he said, "I've got things about wound 
 up now. I'm practically a gentleman of leisure ! 
 
 332
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 How do you think you're going to like that?" 
 He spoke jocularly, smiling. He wished Eileen 
 to forget their differences, as he proposed to for- 
 get them. 
 
 "I think I'm going to like it, Johnny," she re- 
 plied, rather humbly, yet smiling a little. Eileen 
 in fact, still had some mental reservations. She 
 couldn't understand why they must keep their 
 going a secret right up to the last. Or, rather, the 
 last few days especially since this bribery scan- 
 dalshe had begun to have glimmerings of an 
 understanding that half frightened her. She had 
 begun to suspect that her husband had excellent 
 reasons for going secretly; to imagine that he was 
 on the shady side of the law. To imagine her 
 husband on the shady side of the law was just 
 like imagining herself caught at an evening party 
 in a calico wrapper, or addressed coarsely in a 
 public place by some rowdy. It was a vulgar, 
 scandalous thing. 
 
 Nevertheless, she cheered up at dinner when 
 he told her that he had engaged a suite on a crack 
 ship for their passage. And Sunday morning they 
 spent together in a fairly loverlike way. They 
 
 333
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 played at a game which in other days had some- 
 times amused himself and Emma. That is, they 
 got down an atlas and looked up places where 
 they might go. In the afternoon, it being a clear, 
 fine winter day, they went for a sleighride. Both 
 seemed quite content ; they gossiped now and then 
 in pleasant anticipation of their journey. 
 
 Pound himself was content this Sunday after- 
 noon. A dear sense of security and ease de- 
 scended upon him. The fight was over ; the stake 
 won. He glanced about him with a satisfying 
 feeling that he was taking his last look at least 
 for a long while at this familiar scene where he 
 had had so many conflicts, so many pains, and where 
 he had finally triumphed. It was really very much 
 like looking out over his past life and saying good- 
 by to it. He had come here with nothing, only a 
 telegraph operator. . . . What a fight it had 
 been! He lost himself in thought; replied ab- 
 sently to his wife. 
 
 They happened to drive past the Cleopatra. 
 In his abstraction he glanced up at the windows 
 of the swell apartment which he and Emma had 
 occupied and smiled a little, involuntarily, with 
 
 334
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 a vague touch of pain. A good, stout partner, at 
 any rate, she had been! . . . He wondered if 
 he would really happen to run across her in 
 Paris. The thought made him smile more. . . . 
 
 A movement on Eileen's part attracted his at- 
 tention. He looked around and was astonished 
 to see that she was staring stonily ahead, her lips 
 compressed. She looked as though some one 
 had injured her deeply. For a moment he was 
 at a loss. Then it came to him that she had seen 
 him smiling up at the windows of the swell apart- 
 ment. It made him, for a moment, feel quite 
 hopeless. The silly child will always be just like 
 this ! he thought, with a kind of despair. Then 
 he began talking to her about their trip, cheer- 
 fully; but she remained downcast. Whatever 
 happened, this, he could see, was going to be the 
 fly in his ointment. He gave over trying to woo 
 her. They rode home in silence. 
 
 Their rather useless butler opened the door for 
 them. A gentleman had called to see Mr. Pound, 
 he said, and insisted upon waiting. The gentle- 
 man said he was an old friend of Mr. Pound. 
 The butler's manner seemed to convey doubts- 
 
 335
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 either of the gentleman, or of the gentleman's old 
 friend. Pound just had time to wonder who this 
 caller might be, when he stepped in, unbidden, 
 from the little reception room off the hall. 
 
 It was Hamilton, looking seedy and without 
 the bushy, red mustache which had once distin- 
 guished him. A faded overcoat dangled, unbut- 
 toned, about his lank, round-shouldered form; in 
 one bony hand he carried a battered derby hat. 
 Upon this shabby and mustacheless ghost of the 
 past Pound gazed with blank surprise. Eileen 
 gave one frigid glance at him, without the faint- 
 est gleam of recognition, and proceeded to divest 
 herself of her wraps with an icy aloofness that 
 would have embarrassed a gorilla. 
 
 "Well, Johnny," Hamilton began in an apolo- 
 getical way, "I thought I'd call. I suppose that 
 is, I guess you've had some word about me." 
 He brought it out with difficulty, profoundly em- 
 barrassed, glancing uneasily at Eileen. As Pound 
 still looked blank he seemed dashed. Shifting his 
 weight to the other foot and fumbling with his 
 hat, he stumbled on, much embarrassed. "Why, 
 I supposed in fact, I had a talk with Emma the 
 
 336
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 other day." He blurted it out, fairly falling over 
 himself in embarrassment. 
 
 At the name of Pound's former wife, Eileen, 
 so to speak, froze over again into rapt attention. 
 The effect upon Pound himself was scarcely less 
 marked. 
 
 Fumbling with his hat and thumbing the lip 
 where once the red mustache had luxuriated, 
 Hamilton mentioned that he had been in very 
 hard luck; finally, through his old friend Billy 
 Brewer, had managed to reach Toronto, where 
 Billy was. 
 
 "I got in there Saturday, Johnny," the afflicted 
 man rambled on awkwardly, "Saturday two weeks 
 ago yesterday, and I pretty near run into you 
 right there in the office. You were talking to 
 Tommy Watrous and Murchison just as I was 
 about to go in." 
 
 This detail seemed merely a part of the ram- 
 bling. Pound, however, was aware of a slight 
 stir on Eileen's part. He recalled vaguely that 
 upon the occasion mentioned he had told her he 
 was in Chicago instead of Toronto. 
 
 "Well, I ducked," Hamilton continued; "didn't 
 337
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 have the nerve to go up and speak to you. Then 
 I got to thinking it over, and I thought, 'It 
 wouldn't do any harm to try,' being plumb on 
 my uppers. So, next Monday I started for the 
 office again, and right there by the office door who 
 should I see but Emma, just going in." 
 
 "I supposed," Pound observed stupidly, "that 
 she was in Paris." He felt that an explosion was 
 about to happen, against which he was powerless. 
 
 Hamilton looked at him in open perhaps in 
 reproachful surprise. "Oh, no," he said. "She's 
 been living in Toronto for some time, she tells 
 me she and her sister May. Well, I got to talk- 
 ing to her and she says, 'Go see Johnny, Ham. 
 Go see him. He may have made his mistakes, 
 like anybody else, but his heart is in the right 
 place for his old friends.' Well I talked to her. 
 several times, and the long and short of it is I 
 came to see you. I thought," he added disap- 
 pointedly, "she'd said something to you about it." 
 
 All Pound could say was, stupidly: "Do you 
 know what she's doing?" 
 
 "Well, sir," Hamilton replied with a kind of 
 philosophical relish, "there's a woman 1 Who 
 
 338
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 can tell what she's up to ? Billy Brewer was telling 
 me that she got pinched right there in Toronto a 
 while ago. And who could have guessed what it 
 was about? Seems she went to the public library 
 and got a file of some newspaper that's published 
 in one of those Canadian towns." He reflected. 
 "St. Jude I believe Billy said it was a paper pub- 
 lished in St. Jude. She got the file and took it 
 over to a desk and pretty soon somebody saw her 
 cutting something out of it about a column of 
 stuff. Of course they pinched her, and she said 
 in court that she was weakminded by spells and 
 didn't know what she was doing." Hamilton 
 laughed with melancholy humor. "Catch Emma 
 not knowing what she's doing! She got away 
 with the piece she cut out of the paper, too; 
 nobody could find it. Seems it was something 
 about two young fellows at St. Jude contesting 
 their father's will and coming into a fortune, 
 suppose she had some con game in mind, but Billy 
 says he never heard how it came out." 
 
 For a minute there was dead silence, while 
 Hamilton gazed at the polished floor. Then he 
 looked up at Pound apologetically. 
 
 339
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Johnny, as I was going to say " he began. 
 
 But Pound was already consulting his watch. 
 "Excuse me," he murmured absently, and started 
 hastily for the stairs. 
 
 Hamilton seemed embarrassed as Pound 
 rapidly disappeared up the stairs, leaving him to 
 face Eileen. 
 
 "Nice house you got here, Mrs. Pound," he 
 ventured propitiatingly, with an admiring glance 
 around the hall. "Mighty swell house, I should 
 say. I well, so long, Mrs. Pound," he con- 
 cluded lamely, for Eileen was glaring at him and 
 impatiently tapping her foot upon the floor. "So 
 long," he repeated, gallantly but awkwardly wav- 
 ing his faded hat at her in adieu. That was the 
 last either of them could remember seeing of him. 
 
 A moment later Eileen burst into Pound's room 
 and discovered him throwing things into a suit- 
 case. She shut the door behind her and faced 
 him, panting. "You're going to Toronto 1" she 
 cried. 
 
 To Pound, half distracted with anxiety, that 
 statement seemed superfluous. "Huh? To 
 Toronto? Of course I'm going to Toronto," he 
 
 340
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 exclaimed, diving into the bathroom for toilet 
 articles. 
 
 Eileen was hot upon his heels. "You're going 
 to meet that woman 1 You've been going there to 
 meet her before! You've been lying to me! 
 She's been writing to you !" 
 
 She clamored at him distractedly, furious with 
 jealousy. "You put that thing in the newspapers 
 yourself!" she averred. Almost as distracted, 
 Pound clamored back. It was business, business, 
 business! He had to go! He must catch the 
 train! They would be ruined! Get out of the 
 way! So he bawled at her. Wretch! Deceiver! 
 Libertine! A shameless woman! An adven- 
 turess! A jade! So she screamed upon his track. 
 In a fury, as he rudely shoved her aside, she 
 seized the suitcase, flung it half the length of the 
 room, scattering its contents, darted to the door 
 and locked it. 
 
 At best he had barely time to catch the train. 
 This was maddening. "Emma was right!" he 
 shouted. "She was right! You're a fool! A 
 fool !" He caught her, rudely tore the key from 
 her hand, wrenched open the door and fled,
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 shouting: "She was right! You're a fool!" 
 This was Sunday afternoon. On Monday 
 morning, quite as though he had been mysteri- 
 ously informed, the eminent attorney, Benjamin 
 F. Totherow, called upon Mrs. Pound to learn, 
 adroitly and sympathetically, whether Pound, to 
 absconding and manifold other crimes, had not 
 added the crowning infamy of betraying a gentle 
 lady. Mr. Totherow soon had Eileen copiously 
 flowing with tears and information. She con- 
 fessed that Pound was winding up the bucketshop ; 
 meant to go abroad ; she even committed the folly 
 of mentioning the hundred and fifty thousand 
 dollars which he had given her doubtless mean- 
 ing to cast her off with that. 
 
 Pound, meanwhile, was drawing on to Toronto. 
 From the train he dispatched a telegram to the 
 postmaster at St. Jude. He was quite prepared 
 for the answer that came which was that the 
 Messrs. Wyman had taken up their residence in 
 England immediately upon the settlement of their 
 father's estate and had not been in Canada since, 
 so far as the postmaster knew. 
 
 Now that a clew was in his hands it was easy 
 342
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 to see how Emma could have been writing letters, 
 at Toronto, to good-natured, loquacious Mrs. 
 Lester and forwarding them to some agent in 
 Paris to be mailed there. It was easy to see how 
 anybody might have been sending him letters and 
 telegrams signed A. G. Wyman; how the whole 
 fiction of Algernon and his brother could have 
 been created and palmed off upon him, and how 
 he, in his credulous eagerness for the money, had 
 swallowed it whole. 
 
 It was painfully clear to him that as to what 
 had actually happened in Toronto since Thursday 
 morning he had no information whatever except 
 the communications which had passed between 
 himself and Murchison over the private wire. 
 And Emma knew as much about the art of wire- 
 tapping as he himself did. How simple it would 
 have been for them to tap the wire, sending him 
 bogus messages in Murchison's name, and Mur- 
 chison bogus messages in his name, meanwhile 
 intercepting the genuine messages. 
 
 Indeed, the whole plot unfolded before him a 
 one magic word-Emma! How differently he 
 would have acted if he had known that she was 11 
 
 343
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 Toronto! That sense of impending defeat; that 
 little quailing of his vitals in that, it seemed to 
 him now, he had subtly felt the touch of his 
 former wife's deft, hostile hand. 
 
 It seemed clear that Tommy Watrous must 
 have been more or less in the plot but how 
 much? There was a crucial question. If Emma 
 had bribed Tommy, he might now outbribe her. 
 The confederates could hardly be expecting him. 
 By a sudden descent upon them he might surprise 
 them with the loot in their hands and make them 
 give it up. 
 
 'At Toronto he hastened to the London and 
 St. Lawrence Bank. An official, albeit evidently 
 surprised at Mr. Pound's questions, answered 
 courteously. Mr. Murchison had taken out the 
 express package which Mr. Pound had for- 
 warded. The official was rather under the im- 
 pression that Mr. Murchison had turned the pack- 
 age over to Mr. Wyman, who had accompanied 
 him to the bank at the time ; seemed to remember 
 that Mr. Wyman had carried the package out in 
 his bag. It was the same Mr. Wyman who had 
 once deposited a hundred and fifty thousand dol- 
 
 344
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 lars in the bank in connection with some pending 
 stock deal. Oh, yes, Mr. Wyman had withdrawn 
 his hundred and fifty thousand; in fact, had closed 
 his account with the bank some days before. 
 
 Pound counted in his mind Thursday, Friday, 
 Saturday, Sunday. They had his bonds and four 
 days' start. He was turning away when a fur- 
 ther point occurred to him. This Mr. Wyman 
 what did he look like ? 
 
 The official described him as a short, thick-set, 
 
 youngish man quite fat, indeed; swarthy, very 
 
 jolly-looking. Pound at once recognized Billy 
 Brewer, Hamilton's old pal, whom Hamilton, in 
 fact, had mentioned in the Sunday conversation. 
 And so, undoubtedly, Hamilton was in the plot 
 
 tool 
 
 Some suspicion of that kind had occurred to 
 Pound on the train; but he wondered now why 
 he hadn't seen it at a glance, for certainly Hamil- 
 ton never was such a fool as he had appeared 
 Sunday. Why hadn't he seen that at once? A 
 coldness of despair searched him through. All 
 along, it seemed, he had been the merest gull; had 
 gone stumbling headlong into their traps. 
 
 345
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 He went out of the bank rubbing his brows, 
 feeling that someway his brains must have gone 
 back on him of late. He climbed into the cab 
 pondering. Why in the world, then, had Hamil- 
 ton gone to St. Paul ? It seemed such a foolhardy 
 risk. The Sunday interview rose before him, and 
 suddenly he seized the answer. The conspirators 
 knew that when he was in Toronto he had wired 
 Eileen as though he were in Chicago. Hamilton 
 had gone up there to engineer a row between 
 himself and Eileen and had succeeded beau- 
 tifully. They wanted to work upon Eileen; to 
 set her talking. 
 
 He shouted to the driver to hurry, and paral- 
 yzed slow-going Murchison by bursting into the 
 office like a storm. He had no time for Mur- 
 chison now; he knew well enough what a block- 
 head role Murchison had been playing. He dove 
 for the table where the telegraphers sat. Even 
 then he noted mechanically that Billy Brewer's 
 long-jawed friend was gone. He got Patterson 
 in the St. Paul office; told him to bring Eileen 
 down to that end of the wire immediately; she 
 was to be told it was vitally important; not a 
 
 346
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 minute was to be wasted. If they got her by 
 'phone, he calculated, she could be at the office in 
 twenty or thirty minutes. 
 
 In the painful suspense, his mind really ab- 
 sorbed in other things, he talked to Murchison. 
 It was exactly as he had supposed. Only Mr. 
 Algernon Wyman had appeared on Thursday; 
 the bad ankle kept Brother Henry in St. Jude 
 just as Murchison had informed Mr. Pound by 
 wire at the time. Also, Murchison had turned the 
 bonds and bank statements over to Algernon, in 
 order that the latter might take them to St. Jude 
 and exhibit them to his sick brother all according 
 to Mr. Pound's instructions over the private wire. 
 Looking apathetically up at the stocky, blunt- 
 faced, honest manager, Pound realized for the 
 first time how much a blockhead he really was. 
 But he did not reproach him ; did not even tell him 
 the truth. For if Murchison was a blockhead, 
 what was he ? 
 
 Meanwhile, he was bombarding Patterson with 
 inquiries. Where was Eileen? Why didn't she 
 come down? But no Eileen came. Something 
 else came instead namely, word from the dis- 
 
 347
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 traught Patterson that a receiver had just stepped 
 in and taken possession of the office. Evidently 
 Patterson was at his wits' end. A whole painful 
 hour passed before Pound could get a satisfactory 
 account. 
 
 Benjamin F. Totherow, it appeared, had filed 
 the bill upon which the receiver had been ap- 
 pointed. The bill alleged that the bucketshop 
 was insolvent and Pound an absconder; that he 
 had been abstracting large sums from the bucket- 
 shop; especially that he had abstracted one hun- 
 dred and fifty thousand dollars and turned the 
 same over to his wife, to whose credit it was now 
 lying in a New York bank; that Pound had made 
 all preparations to sail for Europe; had engaged 
 passage; had forwarded his baggage to New 
 York. 
 
 Obviously, Eileen had been blabbing. Tothe- 
 row had her in his hands. So far as concerned 
 the bucketshop the game was up. 
 
 One card remained, however. The bucketshop 
 itself had some eighty thousand dollars to its 
 credit in the London and St. Lawrence Bank 
 not much, but better than nothing. It might be 
 
 348
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 embezzlement, but anything was better than to be 
 stone broke. Pound, therefore, commanded the 
 perturbed Murchison to draw him a check for 
 nearly the whole amount. But ere the manager 
 could comply word came from the bank by tele- 
 phone. It had been advised by wire from St. Paul 
 that the concern was in the hands of a receiver; 
 must decline, for the present, as mere matter of 
 self-protection, to honor any more of the com- 
 pany's checks. So that path was blocked; and at 
 this trying moment what baffled Pound more than 
 anything else was that he couldn't lay his hands 
 on a dollar. It was like finding one's self weapon- 
 less in the midst of a fight. For once he was 
 
 really dazed. 
 
 But very soon something aroused him. Hardly 
 twenty minutes after the telephone from the bank 
 another dispatch came from Patterson. It said 
 the newspapers were out with extras announcing 
 that Colonel Myron Yew had been arrested in 
 connection with the bribery scandal. One of the 
 papers said Colonel Yew had made a full confes- 
 sion and a warrant was already out for the arrest 
 of a very prominent bucketshop proprietor. 
 
 349
 
 THE'LOSING GAME 
 
 Pound wondered whether this was a bluff, or 
 whether Colonel Yew had made a confession im- 
 plicating himself. Something now came back to 
 him the colonel's anger at their last interview 
 and his allegation that a mysterious person named 
 Hammond had originally set him on to seek em- 
 ployment from Pound in the line of lobbying. 
 Hammond Pound seemed to remember that the 
 colonel had described him as a lank, round-shoul- 
 dered, sandy, smooth-shaven man; which descrip- 
 tion would fit Hamilton, now that the mustache 
 was gone. 
 
 Upon his mind arose the rounded outlines of 
 a wide, strong net spread with infinite patience 
 and great skill. It was by no mere coincidence 
 that Totherow, the Legislative committee, the un- 
 friendly newspapers had hit him at the most fatal 
 moments. An adroit and comprehensive mind 
 had formed the whole harmonious plan. He 
 knew well enough whose mind it was. 
 
 He was stripped to the bone. Before him 
 loomed the dubious entanglement of the bribery 
 matter, a horde of outraged creditors with all 
 sorts of unpleasant questions to ask, liberal abuse 
 
 350
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 from the newspapers, all of which he was to face 
 without a dollar. Or else, he was just quietly to 
 fade out of the situation by the first convenient 
 train. 
 
 One further thing occurred to him. What had 
 become of Tommy Watrous? He asked Mur- 
 chison. Which reminded the flustered manager 
 that, on leaving last Thursday afternoon, Tommy 
 had put in his hands a note which was to be de- 
 livered to Mr. Pound the first time the latter 
 came to Toronto. Murchison procured the note. 
 The superscription was not in Tommy's hand, but 
 in feminine characters with which Pound was 
 very familiar. He crossed over and sat down 
 before breaking the seal. The note was dated 
 Thursday, and ran : 
 
 Dear Johnny: Tommy and I were 
 married here today. Thought it only 
 right to leave word for you. I'm 
 awfully fond of Tommy. We sail^ to- 
 morrow. Expect to be gone a long time 
 and travel all over. You know, I've 
 always wanted to travel a lot, but was 
 called back by business the last time. 
 Ham and May will join us soon. They 
 are going to be married. You'll be glad 
 to know that he hasn't drunk a drop in a 
 351
 
 THE LOSING GAME 
 
 long while, but has been attending 
 strictly to business. Honestly, Johnny, 
 I wish you all kinds of good luck in the 
 future. 
 
 Yours EMMA. 
 
 Finally, Pound put the note in his breast pocket. 
 It came, to him that he had toasted Tommy's 
 bride. What a fool she had made of him. But 
 there was a vague cheer in the fact that she wished 
 him luck in the future. As for the present, 
 rather than go through the bribery mess and the 
 mess with the creditors, penniless, he thought he 
 would fade away. 
 
 THE END 
 
 352
 
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