Chapter 4 –Fred's First Entrance to the Exchange and Its Results.

The screams of the ladies caused every broker to look up from the floor of the Stock Exchange. Like a flash they saw a man and boy come tumbling down upon them from the gallery. There was a party of four brokers grouped together immediately under them, and, as a matter of gravitation, they landed on top of them–on their heads and shoulders. Hats were crushed and a confused mass of humanity scrambled about on the floor. The yelling ceased when the shrill screams from the gallery were heard, and brokers ran forward to help those who had fallen.

The pickpocket struck out desperately, trying to shake off Fred. In doing so he hit Broker Bryant in the face. Bryant was a hard hitter himself, and instantly returned the blow–a half dozen or more.

"Blast you, take that!" he hissed, and he gave him lightning-like blows till he sank down on the floor unconscious.

"Won't somebody hold him?" Fred cried out. "He's a pickpocket!"

"Who is he?" somebody asked Bryant.

"I don't know and don't care," was the blunt reply. "He hit me in the face after tumbling down on my head."

By this time the policeman on duty at the Stock Exchange pushed his way through the crowd of brokers and called out:

"What is it? What's the trouble here?" and he looked at the pickpocket, who was slowly pulling himself together.

"This man is a pickpocket," said Fred. "He took those ladies' purses up there, and when I caught him at it he tried to throw me over the gallery. He did throw me, but I brought him down with me."

"Good–good!" cried a broker. "Three cheers for the kid!"

The brokers cheered and then laughed.

"I am no pickpocket," exclaimed the thief, as soon as he saw the officer had him. "The boy lies. I merely-"

"Officer, search him!" cried the elder of the two ladies up in the gallery. "He has my purse and that of my daughter."

"Yes, search him! Search him!" called out a dozen at once.

Brokers held him and the officer searched him. He found the two purses or pocketbooks in his pockets.

"That one is mine!" cried the elderly woman.

"What does it contain, madam?" the officer asked.

"Money and two diamond rings. You can open it and see for yourself."

It was opened and her claim verified.

"Madam, you will have to appear against this man," said the officer, looking up at the elderly lady, and he led the prisoner out of the Stock Exchange and into one of the many offices of the building.

The lady, accompanied by her husband and daughter, appeared in the room and claimed her property. The young girl, who seemed to be about sixteen years old, turned to Fred and said:

"We are indebted to you for recovering our purses. I hope you were not hurt by the fall?"

"Only a little bit," he replied.

"I'm so sorry!"

"Oh, it's nothing," and he laughed. "It was fun to jerk him over with me."

Then she laughed, too, and Fred thought hers the sweetest face he had ever seen in all his life.

"What is your name?" she asked him.

"Fred Halsey."

"My name is Eva Gaines. I want to remember your name, for I never had such a fright in all my life."

"I'll be sure to remember yours," Fred remarked.

"Why will you? Because you were hurt?"

Fred looked around and saw that everybody also in the room was listening to the claiming of the two purses, so he went close up to her and said in a half whisper:

"Because you are the most beautiful girl I ever saw."

"Oh, my!" and her face flushed and eyes sparkled.

Young as she was, she was woman enough to know that it was honest admiration on the part of the youth. Fred seemed half frightened over what he had said and drew back. But she gave him a look and a smile that told him plainly he had not offended. He was going to say more to her, but at that moment her father turned to her, saying:

"Here, daughter, your purse is yours again," and he held it out to her.

She took it, opened it quickly and glanced at its contents.

"Young man," said Mr. Gaines, turning to Fred, "you've got the right stuff in you," and he extended his hand, which Fred grasped and shook. "I won't forget you. I have a brother who is a member of the Stock Exchange, and I want send your name to him. What is it?"

"I have his name, father," said the young girl.

"Ah, very well, then," and he gave Fred's hand another shake and turned away.

But he left a $20 gold coin in it, which Fred's fingers closed over very promptly. The next moment they were gone. Fred put the goldpiece in his pocket, while the thought flashed through his mind that the young girl was all gold herself. The officer took his name and address as a witness, and then led his prisoner away to the police station. Just as he was leaving the room a broker called out to Fred:

"That man will never forgive you for his arrest. He will set some friends of his after you, so you had better be on your guard."

"I'm on my guard all the time, sir," Fred replied.

"What is your name?"

"Fred Halsey."

The broker wrote the name on his cuff and then went out of the room. Fred thought nothing of the incident, and went out a moment or two later himself, going to the street, hoping to see Bob and find out how B. & H. was doing. Out on the street he found that nobody had heard of the pickpocket's arrest in the Exchange building.

"I am $20 in on that racket, anyhow," he said to himself as he walked around to the side entrance of the Exchange. "I would like to do as well every day in the year. Lord, but she is a beauty!"

He was thinking of the girl. Somebody ran into him and the two came near going down in a heap together.

"Hello, Fred! I'm in a hurry!" exclaimed the other.

It was Bob!

"Well, don't you know me well enough not to try to run over or through me? You can save time by running around me every time."

But Bob was off like a flash, and Fred judged by that B. & H. was humming, for Manson was booming it and Bob was his messenger. Seeing two brokers talking near the New street entrance, Fred went over near enough to hear one say:

"It will go to 70 to-morrow and somebody will be burnt."

"Yes, I think so, too,"

The Exchange closed for the day, and Fred went around to meet Bob again. He met Manson at the foot of the stairs, his face flushed from the excitement of his tremendous battle in the Exchange.

"Ah!" the big broker exclaimed. "I see you caught another thief to-day. Why don't you turn detective? It seems to be your forte."

"I'd rather be a broker, sir," Fred replied.

"A broker, eh?" and Manson looked him full in the eyes. "Think you have nerve enough for that?"

"Yes, sir. I've got nerve enough. It's money I want."

Manson laughed and shook his head.

"We all want money. That's what we are here for. But there are more losers than winners."

"What one man loses another one wins," said Fred.

"Of course, but one man sometimes wins from a thousand at one turn, so you see there are always more losers than winners," and the big broker went on up to his office, leaving Fred at the foot of the stairs waiting for Bob.

He was quietly waiting there and watching people come and go when he was startled by a cry above. He glanced up and saw some one falling from the upper floor and sprang aside just in time to escape being crushed. It was a messenger boy from Broker Tracey's office.

"Oh, Lord!" gasped Fred. "He must be killed!" and he sprang forward to pick him up.

The boy was unconscious. Instantly a dozen brokers were on hand to render aid. Broker Tracey came running down to see about him and get the telegram the boy was sent out with. Bob came hurrying down too.

"This is too bad," said Tracey. "I am sorry. He is a good messenger. Janitor! Janitor!"

The janitor came and by that time the boy had recovered consciousness. He groaned in agony. The physician, whose office was in the building, examined him.

"Left arm and leg broken," he said.

"Lord, but I am sorry. Doctor, take charge of him, see him through and send your bill to me. Tom, my boy, your pay shall go on just the same. See if anything is wanted, janitor, and get it for him. Where is the telegram, Tom?"

"In my pocket, sir," said Tom, white as a sheet.

It was found and given to the broker, who turned to Bob and said:

"Please send that off for me, Bob, and if you know of a boy who can make a good messenger send him to me in the morning."

"Hello, Fred! This is the place for you!" and Bob grabbed Fred by the arm and forced him around in front of Tracey. "Here's the one you want, sir–Fred Halsey."

"All right; come here to-morrow morning."

So the next morning Fred went to Tracey's office and was engaged as messenger. During the day B. & H. went to 87 and Fred as soon as he was sent on an errand stopped in at the bank and bad his shares sold for Halsey & Co.

Bob was getting $6 a week as messenger for Tracey and it pleased his aunt greatly. The next day Tabor gave Bob a statement for Halsey & Co., showing a net profit of over $1,200, which he placed to their credit. Fred and Bob were standing under the gallery of the Stock Exchange in the place allotted to messengers, when Broker Keeley gave a howl and sprang at the throat of Broker Gaines. They fell to the floor. The old man turned his eyes toward Fred. They seemed to pop out of his head for the maniac was choking him.

"I can't stand that!" cried Fred, and the next moment both his hands were in Broker Keeley's hair. He let go the old man's throat, and a dozen brokers ran in to separate them and quell the row.

Next day Fred said to Bob: "I met Gaines's typewriter just now and she said Mr. Gaines had not been to the office since his row with Broker Keeley. The clerk who is running the office insulted her and she wants to leave."

"By George!" answered Bob, "Bryant's girl has just asked me to find a place for her. What did you tell Callie?"

"I told her I would look out for her, and I will."

During the day Fred got a place for Callie with Broker Tabor, and Bob secured a temporary place for Bertie Clayton in old Broker Bowles's office.

The day after the two boys met the girls in a restaurant, and Callie told Fred of a tip she had come across. It was Pacific Mail, and it was going to be cornered.

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