"
"Or else waddle out of the street lame ducks."
Bullion rubbed his hands, while his eyes shone with a colder glitter.
"Well, you are a bear, truly," said Fletcher, with unfeigned
admiration,--"a real Ursa Major."
"To be sure, I'm a bear. What's the use in being a bull in times like
these, to be skinned and sold for your hide and tallow?"
"The market is falling, and no mistake."
"Yes, and will fall lower. Stocks haven't been down since '37 so low as
you will see them a month from now."
Fletcher bowed----and waited. Bullion pointed the eyebrow again.
"You don't want to begin on an uncertainty. I see. Sharp. Proper
enough. I'll give you ten per cent. of the profits,--you to pay the
commissions. Each day's work to be set down, and at the end of each
week I'll give you a note for your share. That do? I thought it would.
I offer a liberal figure, for I think you know something, youngster.
Use your judgment, now. Consult me, of course; but mum's the word. If
any stock is pushed in, lay hold, and don't be afraid. The holders must
sell, and they must sacrifice. We'll skin 'em, by G--," said Bullion,
with an excitement that was rare in a cool, hard head like his. Then
thinking he had been too outspoken, he resumed his former concise
manner.
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