Von Blumer Invests

" talking with Whittler to-day," said Von Blumer, "and he told me he had just made ten thousand in Wall Street."

"You never do anything like that," said Mrs. Von Blumer.

Von Blumer elevated his eyebrows, and leaned back in his chair with an expression of supreme disdain.

"Well!" he exclaimed. "If that isn't just like a woman! Just because I grub along in my slow, industrious, painstaking way; just because I'm not a gambler, a spendthrift, and am not taking the bread out of the mouths of widows and orphans, why, you turn on me—you chide me with my incompetence!"

"Nonsense! I haven't said anything of the sort. I don't know anything about it. What did you mention the matter for?"

Von Blumer ignored her question. He was absorbed in a philosophic reflection. Suddenly he turned to his wife, his face shining with the beatitude felt by a man who is suddenly elevated to the sermon level.

"Perhaps," he said, "you don't realize what this Wall Street business means. Well, it's death and destruction! It's sapping the life blood of the nation. A whole gang of desirable young men, the bulwark of our country, are going to ruin. I see it about me all the time. It's fearful!"

"Mr. Whittler evidently doesn't feel that way about it," said Mrs. Von Blumer. "He's a church-member, too, isn't he?

"Whittler," said Von Blumer earnestly, "is exceptionally situated. You see he is on the inside. He never does anything big; but he knows some of the big ones. He is right next to them. He simply takes advantage of a few things he hears. Besides, he is old enough not to have his head turned. Then, he never mentions the matter—that is, except to his intimate friends."

"Why don't you try your hand at it?" asked Mrs. Von Blumer. "You are as old as he is. There's no chance of losing, I suppose?"

"Oh, no, not in Whittler's case. You see, you buy when they are low. Then the boys get together and give things a boost. Oh, it's dead easy—a sure thing. Perhaps I will. I don't know that there would be any harm—in my case. I'm too level-headed to get caught. All you need in the game is a little judgment, a little nerve."

The next day, when Von Blumer came home, his step was a trifle more elastic than usual. There was a subdued gleam in his eye as he kissed his wife. He had not been so good-natured for months. After dinner was over he took her into the library and closed the door carefully. He patted her confidentially on the shoulder.

"Can you keep a secret?"

Mrs. Von Blumer looked at him reproachfully. As if she—being the woman he knew her to be—couldn't keep a secret!

"My dear girl, prepare yourself for a shock. I'm making a fortune!"

"A fortune?"

"Well, of course, in a limited way. I'm conservative. I'm not rushing into a thing with my eyes shut. But when you have a dead sure thing, play it hard! That's my motto." Mrs. Von Blumer looked at him suspiciously.

"My dear, you haven't been—speculating?"

In reply her husband slapped his hand on his knee. He laughed heartily.

"Well, well," he exclaimed, "that's good! Me speculating! At my time of life! I say nay. Not much!"

"What have you been doing?"

"Now, my pet, just sit down and listen. And above all things, don't jump to any conclusions. Yesterday I went in with the boys on a little—investment."

"I hope it wasn't a gold mine. I'm afraid of gold mines. You know father"

"Ha! That shows how little you know. Perhaps you don't know it, but there's been more good solid hard cash made in gold mines than in anything else. But never mind. You wouldn't understand the details if I talked for a century."

Mrs. Von Blumer's face blanched.

"Have you bought a gold mine?" she faltered.

"Certainly not. All you've got to do is to remember the word 'Acacia'—that's all. Yesterday it was selling at twenty-four. To-day it has moved up to thirty; and there's absolutely no telling where it will stop. Whittler put me on. There's just a few of us, but we are 'way, 'way inside."

"Acacia!" said Mrs. Von Blumer. "Why, I heard some men talking about it on the train. One of them said it was good for something—par, I think he said."

"Exactly."

"How did they know about it?"

Von Blumer leaned forward mysteriously.

"It's known," he whispered, "to a few, a select few. Of course in a week or so—when it's too late, everybody will know it. Nothing like getting in on the ground floor, eh?"

"But suppose it should go down?"

Von Blumer chuckled.

"Acacia go down—with me and the rest of the insides back of it? Huh!"

"Have you bought much of it?"

Von Blumer's voice lowered.

"No," he whispered. "Don't mention it. I'm almost ashamed to say how little I've got. A mere nothing—a couple of hundred shares. Oh, if I had only had my nerve with me yesterday!"

Mrs. Von Blumer looked at him keenly.

"I don't know anything about it," she said anxiously. "I suppose it's all right, if you say so. But what do they mean by margin? Buying on a margin—isn't that it? They say it's wrong to do it—I hope you didn't."

Von Blumer's face grew solemn and earnest.

"Nothing worse!" he cried. "That's what ruins 'em. There's only one safe thing to do, as Whittler says—buy it outright, put it away in your pill-box, and forget it. Then you can't lose. A little cool judgment, and steady nerve, a clear head in buying, and—well, maybe millions will result."

"And you did that, did you?"

"In my case it wasn't necessary. You must remember, my dear, that I am strictly on the inside. We don't wait for a thing to happen—we create it. It's a terrible thing for these poor duffers who don't know, isn't it? But for us—well, we play the cards. I can't wait until to-morrow."

The next day Von Blumer slipped into the house so noiselessly that his wife scarcely heard him come up to her. He was calm—unnaturally calm. He was also pleasant—unnaturally pleasant. They talked of many things.

"I thought," said Mrs. Von Blumer, at last, "that I would get a new hat."

Her husband's face burst into a smile.

"That's great!" he cried. "A hat—I like that! But I don't believe it."

"What do you mean?"

"The idea of your getting a new hat is a great joke. It amuses me immensely. I don't believe it. You'd rather wear your old one. I know you. When you get new things you don't wear 'em. You stick to the old until I'm positively ashamed of you."

"But"

"All I can say is that I hope you will get a good hat. And for heaven's sake, get a decent one. Get two or three. Every well-dressed woman ought to have at least half a dozen hats. And I want you to buy some clothes. Go to a half respectable place. Have something that looks well. It's your duty to be well dressed. I demand it of you." He put his hand on her shoulder. "My dear girl, we've been living in a rut. Now, let's broaden out. I've been looking at autos all the afternoon—ever since three o'clock. I Suppose I'll have to come to a French car. I understand they are the best. And we must go to Europe—a leisurely stroll, mind you—no hurried trips for me!" He turned and looked around. "Do you know, my dear," he observed critically, "that everything in this house looks shabby? It's positively disreputable."

Mrs. Von Blumer understood. She looked at him beseechingly. There was a strange glint in his eye that she didn't like.

"Don't you think, dear," she said, "that you'd better sell out?"

"Sell out? Why, what do you mean?" said Von Blumer, as if the subject she had broached was the last thing in the world he was thinking of. "Oh, you refer to Acacia?" He waved his arm. "Oh, that little matter! I think not. I think not! You see I know more about those things than you. I don't think I shall sell out quite yet—not while I'm making a thousand a day. Of course, that isn't much; still, it's better than nothing. If I hadn't been such an infernal ass I'd have gotten more. It makes me sick when I think of it. I might have known. But I might as well be philosophical."

During the next few days Mrs. Von Blumer learned to gage the stock-market by her husband's actions. When he was sentimental, verging on peevishness, it was going down. When he was haughty and distant, it was going up. His spirits soared and dropped with Acacia.

Little by little, however, he seemed to grow more serious. One day he spoke of "those devilish crop reports"; on another of "tight" money, and on another of "distant war rumors" which for some unknown reason appeared to be doing damage to home industries. On the seventh afternoon, as she was engaged in a little shopping, she heard a boy calling an extra. She caught the word Wall Street, and hastily bought the paper. Her worst fears were confirmed as she read the fatal head-line: "A Crash in the Street."

She waited to learn no more—indeed, the most intimate perusal of the financial column would have left her no wiser—but hurried homeward. It was growing dark as she entered the house and made her way up-stairs. Suddenly she heard her husband's voice at the telephone. She waited outside the door until he had finished, and then entered the room.

"You did it!" he cried.

"Did what?"

"Never mind! You're responsible for it all right. I might have known, when I took your advice, that I'd be wiped out. I knew some time or other that you'd get me in a box like this!"

"What have I done?"

"You've done everything. You enticed me into Wall Street, didn't you, with its bloodthirsty gang of thieves and cut-throats? Didn't you persuade me a week, or so ago, against my better judgment, to go in and gamble?"

"But, my dear, I didn't want you to—I begged you not to."

"Begged nothing! Didn't you taunt me with the fact that I never made any money? What would any decent man do under such circumstances? It's the same old story—ruined by a woman! And I'll bet you've been throwing away money shopping all day."

Mrs. Von Blumer's love for her erring husband rose in a mighty wave. She went over and put her arms about him.

"Don't you care a bit, dear," she whispered. "It doesn't make any difference if you've lost every cent. We can get along."

"Oh, it isn't as bad as that," said Von Blumer, slightly recovering under the dynamics of her caresses. "It's only a couple of thousand. I suppose I can stand it. But I wouldn't have believed it possible the thing could have dropped like that. I was so sure!"

"Well, I'm glad it happened. Money gained in that way never does any good, and it will teach us both a lesson. But Mr. Whittler, didn't he really know?"

Von Blumer turned around angrily.

"Know!" he exclaimed. "Why, the scoundrel just told me over the telephone that he sold out the day after I bought. But I'll be hanged if I don't believe that he lied!" Tom Masson