So they left, and in a few minutes more our hero was in his automobile and speeding rapidly up town. He entered his club-house, and went to a private room, into which shortly after there came hobbling an aged, red-nosed, and gouty old aristocrat, swearing furiously and demanding, "What in the devil did you want me here for, anyhow?"
It was Mr. Chauncey van Rensselaer.
"Well," said the son, after dutifully helping him to a chair, "what do you think of it?"
"That's not answering my question," growled the other. "But Lord, Robbie, I've had a day of it! Do you know I hold five thousand of T. & S.? And I've just been crazy all day, waiting—waiting—"
Humph!" said Robert, with a smile. "Waiting for what?"
"Why, haven't you got any?" cried the[93] other. "Don't you know who's in that syndicate?"
"Yes," said Robbie; "it's the T. & S. gang, and Smith and Shark, I supposed."
"Yes," said the other, "just so; and they mean business, too, I can tell you. You'll see this stock up in the 200's to-morrow. Who do you suppose are those fools that are fighting them?"
"I don't suppose," said Robbie, "I know."
"And who are they?"
"There aren't any 'they.'"
"How do you mean?"
"I mean there's only one man."
"What! And who is it?"
"It's Robert van Rensselaer."
And the old gentleman leapt from his chair, in spite of his gout. "Good God, Robbie!" he cried. "You're mad!"
"No," said Robbie; "it's a fact."
"But you're ruined!"
"Oh, no, not quite, Governor. (Robbie always had called him Governor.) I've spent every cent I own, but not quite ruined; for[94] I'm going to be the richest man in New York City to-morrow at about two minutes past eleven o'clock in the morning. I'm going to have every cent that the T. & S. people and Smith and Shark can beg or borrow, and the bank accounts of several hundred lambs besides, including my aged and beloved daddy!"
The aged and beloved daddy was gasping for breath. "You're lost, Robbie!" he cried. "It can't be! How can you do it without money?"
"I've just arranged a syndicate," laughed Robbie.
"But without money?"
"They don't know I've no money," said he, cheerfully. "But I'm going to get some more, just for safety, from you."
"Humph!" said Mr. Chauncey van Rensselaer, laconically.
"In the first place," said the other man, "you're going to sell those shares to-morrow morning at ten o'clock; and in the second you're going to sell short on T. & S. all you find takers for; and about eleven o'clock[95] you're going to see the sky fall down and hit the earth."
"What's going to cause it?"
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