Just a Tip on the Market

Recounting the Harrowing Experience of a Little Lamb Who Tried to Gamble on Wall Street

COREY FORD

"I'M not advising you to do anything you don't want to do," said Joe Wilch at breakfast this morning. "I'm only just saying that if I had any money right now, I'd put it on General Elastic. It s going up, brother, and it's going up big!"

"You think it would be a good investment?" I inquired timidly.

"Think?" Joe looked at me, incredulous. "Well, say, if everybody on the inside is buying it in as fast as they can, it can't be exactly a bad investment, can it?"

"No," I admitted. "That's true."

"Of course," said Joe coldly, as he rose from the table, "remember I'm not advising you or anything. . ."

That was at 9:15.

I finished my breakfast very deliberately, drank my orange-juice, put first the cream and then the sugar on my toasted corn-flakes, and propped my morning paper before me. The first intimation I had that something was on my mind was when I discovered that I was stirring salt into my coffee and wiping my mouth with a poached egg. In some strange manner, it seems, my newspaper had mysteriously opened itself to the Financial Column; and there, to my surprise, I discovered my own forefinger busily running down a long column of fine print to the G's: " . . . Gridirons, 127; Gadgets Preferred, 78 1/2; GENERAL ELASTIC, 103. . ."

I started guiltily, and folded the paper with a slap. Come, come, this would never do. A hard-working home body like myself, with family responsibilities and a mortgage hanging over his head, had no business fooling around the financial section. It was all very well for fellows like Joe Wilch to play the market; but personally I would stick to something good and reliable, like life insurance or a checking account at 4%. No wild speculating for me. No, sirree. Slow and steady wins the race. They couldn't trap little old yours truly into gambling away his hardearned dollars on General Elastic at 101. . . or whatever it was. . . 102. . .

THAT is the insidious thing about Speculation; you never know when it gets you. I found myself turning back the pages of the newspaper again curiously. Here it was: ". . . ELASTIC, 103." It did look a little better at 103, I must admit. Not quite so shaky, somehow. I stared at the fine print more closely; there was something after it. A + 2. That probably meant it had gone up two points since yesterday. And two points at a dollar a point is two dollars, and last night if I had bought, say a hundred shares, that would be two times a hundred is two hundred dollars. Just overnight; $200. And suppose it went up two points like that every night for a week, that would be seven days—or maybe it would only be six days—is six times two hundred is . . . over a thousand dollars, anyway. And some stocks went up even better than that. Some of them went up five or ten points in a day. Didn't Union Pacific or something go up 153 points in a day, once? Boy! what I couldn't do with $153,000!

Take, now, Eddie Bilkins. What was it? Motors? Or Radio, or something? And now he's rolling around with two limousines, and a town-car to meet him at the city limits. Pretty soft for Eddie. If I'd plunged when he did . . . and I had the tip, too, but I was cautious. I played safe. Well, it's always better to play safe. That's where I belong: on the safe side. Put it out of my mind.

Yes, and then there's Bill Quetch. They say Bill has just bought a thirty-thousand dollar home on Long Island, his first year. Oh, well, it's all very well for those fellows. They're right down there on the spot. It would be silly for a chap like me to try it. Just make a sucker out of myself. Sure. Sure, I'd put it out of my mind entirely . . .

That was at 9:3o.

At 10:00 o'clock I walked into the nearest broker's office and asked for the manager. I tried to be pretty calm about it; but he could see by my face that there was something in the air. I drew him to one side, over by the watercooler, and lowered my voice.

"Just a little idea of mine," I began casually, in an attempt to seem off-hand. "I just wanted to invest in a few stocks, you see. Nothing much."

He nodded, properly impressed.

"I'VE got a little loose change here," I went on with a forced laugh, "and I thought I might as well throw it away as have it hanging around, ha ha ha!" (I wished he would brighten up a bit. That solemn look on his face made my little attempt at joviality sound unnecessarily gloomy and prophetic.) "You see," I rushed, "I'd like to buy a few shares of—" I glanced behind me. "Of course, you won't say anything about this? On the Street, I mean?"

The broker shook his head earnestly.

"This is a private tip, you see."

"I see."

"I thought," I said slowly, "I'd like to buy into General Elastic."

"How much do you want to invest?" asked the broker, taking out a notebook eagerly from his pocket.

"Well," choosing my words carefully, "I think I'll plunge about $100 to start with."

The broker put the notebook back in his pocket again, and controlled himself with an effort. I could see that a deal of this magnitude was quite a shock to him. "My boy," he choked, "this is the biggest thing that has hit the Market since the Wall Street Explosion." He shook my hand solemnly. "Do you want to buy outright, or on Margin?"

"Margin?" I echoed blankly.

"You only pay $20 on each share, and we loan you the rest. If the stock drops twenty points, of course, you have to cover. If you can't cover—but you wouldn't understand all that."

"How many shares would I get if I bought outright?"

"Well, if you could rustle around and scrape up about three dollars more," he said, "you might be able to buy one single whole share, all for yourself."

"In that case," I said thoughtfully, "I guess I'll buy Margin."

"And now if you'll excuse me," said the broker, "I'm going to call up the President of the General Elastic Company. He's going to be pretty darned proud of this expression of confidence, I can tell you. I shouldn't be at all surprised if he wrote you a personal letter."

My first act, upon returning uptown, was to buy a small pearl-handled revolver, which I placed carefully in the upper right-hand drawer of my desk. In every motion-picture I have ever seen, the ruined financier has always grabbed a small pearl-handled revolver from the upper right-hand drawer of his desk. I just wanted to be on the safe side.

For the succeeding hour nothing happened.

At 11:00 o'clock I picked up the telephone and called the broker.

"How's it coming along?" I inquired.

"How's what coming?"

"The General Elastic stock," I frowned, "that you just sold me."

"Oh, that!" he said. "Well, as a matter of fact, we had a rather unfortunate experience with that. It seems the office-boy pasted it on a letter, under the impression that it was a postage-stamp. But we soaked it off all right, and it's out on the market again."

"Thank you," I said slowly, and hung up.

AT least, now that I had invested in the jt\. Market, it was plainly up to me to live up to the part. I drove over to the club for luncheon with a very black cigar stuck in one corner of my mouth, my legs crossed and both thumbs locked in the armpits of my vest; and as I paid the driver I carelessly tossed him an extra bill for a tip. After all, we heavy financiers cannot be bothered to count petty change. I nodded tolerantly to several friends, muttered loudly: "Well, let's see how things are making out today in the Street," and strolled over to the ticker. With a studied frown I commenced to finger the white tape that was heaped like spaghetti in the wicker basket.

For some reason, the thing did not appear to make sense. There were all the names and numbers, one after another, but they were not the names and numbers I had seen on the Financial page that morning: In vain I ran along the various items: ". . . Pimlico . . . Black Beauty, 11:6; Rosebud, 13:27 . . . Tia Juana . . ."; there was no sign of my stock among them. I turned to someone who was peering intently over my shoulder.

"Haven't heard how General Elastic made out this morning, have you?" I asked.

"I never heard of her," he said. "Is she racing at Belmont?"

"Racing . . . Belmont . . .?" I stared at the ticker again, and then tiptoed away in Continued from page 71

Continued on page 110

sudden comprehension. Hereafter, I decided, I would stick to the newspapers for my information on the stock market.

I strolled over toward a friend with my air of confidence the least.hit shaken.

"Well, how's the Market today?" "I suppose you've heard it's about ready for the big shake-up," he laughed. "Gosh, I have to laugh when I think of all the suckers that are investing now. They'll be lucky if they get out with their shirts."

I walked across the lobby a bit unsteadily. Two other friends were talking together in low voices in a corner.

. . so I told my broker to sell everything I had. I want to clear out before the crash."

I supported myself unsteadily on the back of a chair. "You . . . you fellas. . ." I licked my lips. "You fellas wouldn't exactly advise my buying stocks at this time, then?"

"Have you bought any stocks?" asked the first friend sharply.

"Me? Oh, no, no," I laughed hastily. "No, no, no... .Of course," I attempted, "there's some stocks that are safe enough."

"Oh, of course there are some stocks," agreed the first friend. "Like Consolidated Bicycle-Clips, for instance—"

"Or Sunflower Seeds Preferred—" said the second.

"Or General Elastic?" I ventured timidly.

"General Elastic!" shouted the first, bursting into gales of laughter. "That's a hot one!"

"That's the joker of the Market!" howled the second.

"Only a sucker would buy that stock," repeated the first friend, wiping his eyes.

"General Elastic!" laughed the second. "Ha ha ha ha ha. . ."

"Ha ha ha," I echoed hysterically, "ho ho ho. . And I staggered helplessly to the telephone.

"How's it coming?" I gasped to the broker.

"How's what coming?"

I he stock," I choked. "My General Elastic! "

"Oh, that" lie said. "Well, Elastic's down a half point right now."

"Thank you," I gasped, and lurched to the bar for a bracer.

"Well, I see where the Market is due for a terrible flop," began Pat conversationally, as he mixed my drink.

"Augh," I gurgled spasmodically. "Yep, the boys say it will be another Black I riday," he added with a genial smile. "It serves them fellas right for speculating. . ."

I set down the drink untouched, and crawled toward the door. Out on the sidewalk I heard sounds of sudden confusion, and the cries of "Extra! Panic on the Street!" I waved to the newsboy, and grabbed a paper feverishly.

"Extra!" he shouted, as he continued down the block. "Panic on 42nd Street as I rans-Atlantic Flyers Arrive! Extra!"

I mopped my forehead and collapsed on a sofa in relief.

"See you got the early afternoon edition," remarked Frank Carbarns, dropping down beside me. "Let's see how the Market is coming along. .

He opened the paper, and glanced down the list. "Heigh, ho! I see where Automobiles took a nose-dive this morning. And they were one of the sure ones."

"How's . . . Gen'ral 'Lastic?" I groaned.

"Elastic?" He explored the column patiently. "I don't seem to. find it. . ." "IF hat?"

"Oh, here it is." He folded back the paper, and looked closer. "Well, it's only gone down a point so far. But of course these are the mid-day prices. The big changes usually come later in the day." He handed back the paper determinedly. "No, sir, you couldn't get me to invest in stocks if you gave them to me," he said. "For instance, you knew that Bill the door-man was once worth over a million dollars."

I stared at Frank mutely.

"Stocks," he explained with a sad smile. "Bought on Margin . . . the usual story. It cleaned nim out over-night."

I clutched the edge of the sofa with damp hands.

Figures, fractions and digits were racing dizzily before me. A long vista of mingled dollar-signs and prison bars stretched over the hill to the poorhouse.

I glanced at my watch. 2:49. Eleven minutes to go. I dragged myself to the telephone.

"About that stock," I began hoarsely. "What stock?" asked the broker patiently.

"Gen'ralastic," I strangled. "Sell it . . . quick . . . before it's too late. . ."

"But it's back at 103," he gasped, "just where you started from."

"I don't care," I yelled. "I want to get it off my hands before I'm a nervous wreck. I'll be down in a cab right away. . ."

When I returned to the Club an hour later, my roll was tucked safely in my pocket. I could feel it snuggle down contentedly, as I strolled across the lobby with a carefree smile. Good old club! Good old world! The sun was out, the birds were singing, and Frank Carbarns was still standing in a corner. I wandered over to him cordially.

"Speaking of stocks, Frank," I said with an easy smile, "if you've got any spare cash lying around, you take ray tip and put it on General Elastic. It's going up, and it's going up big!"

"You think it would be a good investment?" Frank asked timidly.

"Think?" I looked at him incredulously. "Well, say, if everybody on the inside is buying it in as fast as they can, it can't exactly be— But of course," I reminded him sharply, "I'm not advising you or anything. .

"Why, I appreciate it a lot," said frank, the fatal gleam coming into his eye. "Thanks ever so much, old man."

"Not at all," I said airily. "Just passing along a little tip, that's all. .

And with a cheery smile I patten the roll of bills in my pocket, nodded, and ambled upstairs for a little game of poker. After all, if I'm going ic throwaway my money, I want to have the fun of losing it myself.