transaction entirely an office secret." "It is not necessary to caution me," he quickly said. The financial papers that evening recorded a rumour to the effect that "The son of a late well-known banker and operator is said to be heavily long on N.O. & G., and the slump in that stock during the closing hours was probably due to his frantic efforts to close out an account estimated at 20,000 shares." I wonder where that rumour originated. This is the way secrets are kept in Wall Street. Prior to this I had commissioned Morse & Davis, brokers in whom I have implicit confidence, to purchase 5,000 shares of the stock at or below 75. I obtained 79 for my original investment, and its sale combined with the circulation of the rumour before mentioned precipitated a flurry in N.O. & G. which sent it as low as 74 and a fraction. [Illustration: "It is not necessary to caution me"] Before the market closed I had my five thousand shares. Friday morning selling orders poured in from frightened small holders, and when their demands had been satisfied the "syndicated conspirators" put the screws on just as I expected. They also circulated an alleged authorised interview with an official of the N.O. & G. forecasting the passing of the regular semi-annual dividend. Had I not been acquainted with the plans of these quotation wreckers I should have been seriously alarmed. When the tape recorded a sale at 70 I placed an order with Morse & Davis for 10,000 shares, and they picked it up in small lots at an average of 69. It rose slightly on Saturday, and I did nothing with it. I have put up in margins $375,000, sufficient to protect me against a drop of twenty-five points. I stand to lose $1,975,000, and know where I can place my hands on the money. I anticipate that the stock will go much lower, and have planned accordingly. My share of my lamented father's estate is worth fully two and a half millions, and it is in such shape that I can speedily convert it into cash. If these thieves can get it they are welcome to it, but they will know that they have been in a fight. The transition from the healthy quiet of Woodvale to the feverish furore of Wall Street was startling. At times as I stood by the ticker I could hardly persuade myself that it was not a dream, from which I should awake to stroll with Miss Harding across the brooks and green meadows we both love so well.