Once a faded, white-haired old man had handed Jack a check after
banking hours to make good an account--a man whose face had
haunted him for hours. His uncle told him the poor fellow had "run
up solid" against a short interest in a stock that some Croesus
was manipulating to get even with another Croesus who had
manipulated HIM, and that the two Croesuses had "buried the old
man alive." The name of the stock Jack had forgotten, but the
suffering in the victim's face had made an indelible impression.
In reply to Jack's further inquiry, his uncle had spoken as if the
poor fellow had been wandering about on some unknown highway when
the accident happened, failing to add that he himself had led him
through the gate and started him on the road; forgetting, too, to
say that he had collected the toll in margins, a sum which still
formed a considerable portion of Breen & Co.'s bank account. One
bit of information which Breen had vouchsafed, while it did not
relieve the gloom of the incident, added a note of courage to the
affair:
"He was game, however, all the same, Jack.
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