Helping Himself

A DAY IN WALL STREET

Grant went at once on his arrival in the city to Mr. Reynolds’ office.  He had in his hand a well-worn valise containing his small stock of clothing.  The broker was just leaving the office for the Stock Exchange as Grant entered.

“So you are punctual,” he said, smiling.

“Yes, sir, I always on time.”

“That is an excellent habit.  Here, Harry.”

In answer to this summons, Harry Becker, a boy two years older and correspondingly larger than Grant, came forward.  He was a pleasant-looking boy, and surveyed Grant with a friendly glance.

“Harry,” said Mr. Reynolds, “this is your successor.  Do me the favor of initiating him into his duties, so that when you leave me he will be qualified to take your place.”

“All right, sir.”

The broker hurried over to the Exchange, and the two boys were left together.

“What is your name?” asked the city boy.

“Grant Thornton.”

“Mine is Harry Becker.  Are you accustomed to the city?”

“No, I am afraid you will find me very green,” answered Grant.

“You are not the boy to remain so long,” said Harry, scrutinizing him attentively.

“I hope not.  You are going to Europe, Mr. Reynolds tells me.”

“Yes, the governor is going to take me.”

“The governor?”

“My father, I mean,” said Harry, smiling.

“I suppose you are not sorry to go?”

“Oh, no; I expect to have a tip-top time.  How would you like it?”

“Very much, if I could afford it, but at present I would rather fill your place in the office.  I am the son of a poor country minister, and must earn my own living.”

“How did you get in with Mr. Reynolds?” asked Harry.

Grant told him.  “Is he easy to get along with?” he inquired, a little anxiously.

“He is very kind and considerate.  Still he is stanch, and expects a boy to serve him faithfully.”

“He has a right to expect that.”

“As I am to break you in, you had better go about with me everywhere.  First, we will go to the post-office.”

The two boys walked to Nassau Street, where the New York post-office was then located.  Harry pointed out the box belonging to the firm, and producing a key opened it, and took out half a dozen letters.

“There may be some stock orders in these letters,” he said; “we will go back to the office, give them to Mr. Clark to open, and then you can go with me to the Stock Exchange.”

Ten minutes later they entered the large room used by the brokers as an Exchange.  Grant looked about him in undisguised astonishment.  It seemed like a pandemonium.  The room was full of men, shouting, gesticulating and acting like crazy men.  The floor was littered with fragments of paper, and on a raised dais were the officers of the Exchange, the chief among them, the chairman, calling rapidly the names of a long list of stocks.  Each name was followed by a confused shouting, which Grant learned afterward to be bids for the stock named.  There were several groups of brokers, each apparently interested in some leading security.  In each of the galleries, one at each end, overlooking the stock room, curious spectators were watching what was going on.

Harry Decker was amused at Grant’s look of surprise and bewilderment.

“You’ll get used to it in time,” he said.  “Say—­there is Mr. Reynolds.  I must speak to him.”

Mr. Reynolds stood near a placard on which, in prominent letters, was inscribed “Erie.”  Harry handed him a paper, which he took, glanced at quickly, and then resumed his bidding.

“He has just bought one thousand Erie,” said Harry, aside, to Grant.

“One thousand?”

“Yes, a thousand shares, at fifty-five.”

“Fifty-five dollars?”

“Yes.”

“Why, that will make fifty-five thousand dollars,” ejaculated Grant, in wonder.

“Yes, that is one of the orders I brought over just now.”

“A man must have a great deal of capital to carry on this business, if that is only an item of a single day’s business.”

“Yes, but not so much as you may imagine.  I can’t explain now, but you’ll understand better as you go on.  Now we’ll go back and see if there’s anything to do in the office.”

Not long afterward Harry had to come back to the Exchange again, and Grant came with him.  He found something new to surprise him.

A tall man of dignified presence was walking across the floor, when a fellow member with a sly stroke sent his tall hat spinning across the floor.  When the victim turned the mischief-maker was intent upon his memorandum book, and the tall man’s suspicions fell upon a short, stout young man beside him.  With a vigorous sweep he knocked the young man’s hat off, saying, “It’s a poor rule that don’t work both ways.”

This led to a little scrimmage, in which a dozen were involved.  The brokers, staid, middle-aged men, most of them, seemed like a pack of school boys at recess.  Grant surveyed the scene with undisguised astonishment.

“What does it mean, Harry?” he asked.

“Oh, that’s a very common occurrence,” said Harry, smiling.

“I never saw grown men acting so.  Won’t there be a fight?”

“Oh, it’s all fun.  The brokers are unlike any other class of men in business hours,” explained Harry.  “It’s one of the customs of the place.”

Just then, to his astonishment, Grant saw his employer, Mr. Reynolds, pursuing his hat, which was rolling over the floor.  He was about to run to his assistance, but Harry stopped him.

“No interference is allowed,” he said.  “Leave them to their fun.  I used to think it strange myself, when I first came into the Exchange, but I’m used to it now.  Now we may as well go back to the office.”

There is no occasion to follow the boys through the day’s routine.  Grant found his companion very obliging, and very ready to give him the information he needed.  Many boys would have been supercilious and perhaps been disposed to play tricks on a country boy, but Harry was not one of them.  He took a friendly interest in Grant, answered all his questions, and did his best to qualify him for the position he was to assume.

Before the office closed, Grant and his new friend went to the bank to make a deposit of money and checks.  The deposit amounted to about twenty thousand dollars.

“There must be plenty of money in New York,” said Grant.  “Why, up in Colebrook, if a man were worth twenty thousand dollars he would be considered a rich man.”

“It takes a good deal more than that to make a man rich in New York.  In the stock business a man is likely to do a larger business in proportion to his capital than in the mercantile business.”

On their way back from the bank, Grant came face to face with Tom Calder.  Tom was busily engaged in talking to a companion, some years older than himself, and didn’t observe Grant.  Grant was by no means prepossessed in favor of this young man, whose red and mottled face, and bold glance made him look far from respectable.

“Do you know those fellows?” asked Harry Becker.

“The youngest one is from Colebrook.”

“He is in bad company.  I hope he is not an intimate friend of yours?”

“Far from it.  Still, I know him, and am sorry to see him with such a companion.”

At four o’clock Mr. Reynolds proposed to go home.  He beckoned to Grant to accompany him.