The Tipster | Page 5

win. And, of course, the long-expected happened and the market
went up with a rapidity that made the Street blink; and Gilmartin

figured that had not the brokers refused his last order, he would have
made enough to pay off the indebtedness and have left, in addition,
$2,950; for he would have "pyramided" on the way up. He showed the
brokers his figures, accusingly, and they had some words about it and
he left the office, almost tempted to sue the firm for conspiracy with
intent to defraud; but decided that it was "another of Luck's
sockdolagers" and let it go at that, gambler-like.
When he returned to the brokers' office--the next day--he began to
speculate in the only way he could--vicariously. Smith, for instance,
who was long of 500 St. Paul at 125, took less interest in the deal than
did Gilmartin, who thenceforth assiduously studied the news slips and
sought information on St. Paul all over the Street, listening thrillingly
to tips and rumors regarding the stock, suffering keenly when the price
declined, laughing and chirruping blithely if the quotations moved
upward, exactly as though it were his own stock. In a measure it was as
an anodyne to his ticker fever. Indeed, in some cases his interest was so
poignant and his advice so frequent--he would speak of our deal--that
the lucky winner gave him a small share of his spoils, which Gilmartin
accepted without hesitation--he was beyond pride-wounding by
now--and promptly used to back some miniature deal of his own on the
Consolidated Exchange or even in "Percy's"--a dingy little bucket shop,
where they took orders for two shares of stock on a margin of 1 per
cent; that is, where a man could bet as little as two dollars.
Later, it often came to pass that Gilmartin would borrow a few dollars
when the customers were not trading actively. The amounts he
borrowed diminished by reason of the increasing frequency of their
refusals. Finally, he was asked to stay away from the office where once
he had been an honored and pampered customer.
He became a Wall Street "has been" and could be seen daily on New
Street, back of the Consolidated Exchange, where the "put" and "call"
brokers congregate. The tickers in the saloons nearby fed his gambler's
appetite. From time to time luckier men took him into the same
be-tickered saloons, where he ate at the free lunch counters and drank
beer and talked stocks and listened to the lucky winners' narratives with

lips tremulous with readiness to smile and grimace. At times the
gambler in him would assert itself and he would tell the lucky winners,
wrathfully, how the stock he wished to buy but couldn't the week
before had risen 18 points. But they, saturated with their own ticker
fever, would nod absently, their soul's eyes fixed on some
quotation-to-be; or they would not nod at all, but in their eagerness to
look at the tape, from which they had been absent two long minutes,
would leave him without a single word of consolation or even of
farewell.

V
One day, in New Street, he overheard a very well-known broker tell
another that Mr. Sharpe was "going to move up Pennsylvania Central
right away." The overhearing of the conversation was a bit of rare good
luck that raised Gil-martin from his sodden apathy and made him
hasten to his brother-in-law, who kept a grocery store in Brooklyn. He
implored Griggs to go to a broker and buy as much Pennsylvania
Central as he could--that is, if he wished to live in luxury the rest of his
life. Sam Sharpe was going to put it up. Also, he borrowed ten dollars.
Griggs was tempted. He debated with himself many hours, and at
length yielded with misgivings. He took his savings and bought one
hundred shares of Pennsylvania Central at 64, and began to neglect his
business in order to study the financial pages of the newspapers. Little
by little Gilmartin's whisper set in motion within him the wheels of a
ticker that printed on his day-dreams the mark of the dollar. His wife,
seeing him preoccupied, thought business was bad; but Griggs denied it,
confirming her worst fears. Finally, he had a telephone put in his little
shop, to be able to talk to his broker.
Gilmartin, with the ten dollars he had borrowed, promptly bought ten
shares in a bucket shop at 63%; the stock promptly went to 62%; he
was promptly "wiped"; and the stock promptly went back to 64%.
On the next day a fellow-customer of Gilmartin of old days invited him

to have a drink. Gil-martin resented the man's evident prosperity. He
felt indignant at the ability of the other to buy hundreds of shares. But
the liquor soothed him,