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Updated: May 16, 2025
But Thwicket was gone, and when the door closed behind him Mr. Gallivant gave a leap from the floor where he stood to the sofa eight feet away! Then he leaped back. Then he picked up a pair of dumb-bells and swung them fiercely at the imminent risk of his head and the furniture of the room. Then finally he drew from his desk a bottle of brandy and took a long, strong pull.
I give you my word of honor I couldn't stand another such loss. It would put me in a hole." "Nonsense!" said Thwicket; "come, walk down to the office and we'll talk it over. By the way, where are you living now? I dropped in at your hotel and they said you'd given up your rooms and gone into the country. Queer time o' year to go to the country?" "Um well, dunno 'bout that. Found my rooms stuffy.
He caressed the check with his fingers and softly observed, "H'm, I flatter myself that was well done. I have the money, and Thwicket has an abiding confidence in my wealth, but oh, ye gods! what would I give to be able to put my fine Italian hand into that Snapshot corner!" Mr.
"At last!" he cried. "It's 136. It'll break in another ten minutes! Hadn't I better get from under?" "Still excited, Thwicket?" answered Mr. Gallivant reproachfully. "My dear boy, I'm afraid you've not got a proper hold upon yourself. Yes, probably you'd better unload. Perhaps now's as good a moment as any. But be " Thwicket did not wait for the rest. He fled.
"Strikes me," he said musingly, "that I ought to do something handsome for Thwicket now I really ought. My profit is $113,000. I doubt if his will reach even $500. That doesn't look quite fair, seeing that he did the business all on his own money. The deuce of it is, though, that it's demoralizing to make presents to your brokers. After all, business is business!"
I've got $380 with Thwicket $380, all that remains of well never mind, there's no use grumbling over what's gone. I had a royal good time while it lasted, so I'll just think of the good time and not of what it took to get it. But that $380! H'm, I'll step down and see Thwicket!" Mr. Gallivant slid into his overcoat, prinked up his scarlet tie, and walked breezily into Wall Street.
It must be owned that in the privacy of his office this conclusion brought something very like a frown upon Mr. Gallivant's brow. "It'll ruin me!" he said. "It'll show Thwicket that I'm as dry as Mother Hubbard's pantry, and when a man loses credit with his broker he might as well shut up shop. But, gad! there's no other way. I must have that balance, positively must, can't wait an hour longer.
When he returned half an hour later his face was radiant, but his collar wilted. "Sold!" he cried, "at 148, and busted at 152!" By a quick, spontaneous motion, Mr. Gallivant's mustaches drew themselves in a loving curl around his nose, but for the rest he was merely cheery gently cheery as he always was. "You've done very well, Thwicket," he said commendingly.
My wits haven't been working right here lately. But I'll just give you a check for $20,000, and you can buy me a nice little block of Michigan Border say a hundred shares, just to see how the cat jumps, you know." Thwicket took the check, but with a troubled air. "My dear Gallivant," he said, "why do a thing like that?
Thwicket could not be found. Quivering with excitement, Mr. Gallivant started forth in further search. At the door of the Exchange he met his office-boy, who told him the broker was searching for him high and low had been at the office and was now in the Savarin café. Thither Mr.
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