"Been following the business for some years, I presume."

   "About fifteen, all told. I used to have an office in Wall Street, New York, but I gave that up, as I found the confinement bad for my health."

   "It must be a pretty exacting business," went on Mr. Passmore.

   "It is, sir. When a fellow is in stocks he can't follow much of anything else."

   "I'd hate to follow stocks for fifteen years."

   "Do you mean to say you have been handling stocks for the past fifteen years?" questioned Mr. Fordham, slowly.

   "Exactly, sir—ever since I gave up my position as cashier of a Boston bank," returned Job Haskers, smoothly. "And now, to get down to business, as my time is somewhat limited. I suppose you are ready to subscribe for that stock?" And the former teacher brought forth a paper and his fountain pen.

   "We'll see," mused Mr. Fordham. "Dealing in stocks for the past fifteen years, eh? How long since you gave up your office in Wall Street?"

   "About—er—two years," stammered Job Haskers. He looked keenly at Mr. Fordham and then at Mr. Passmore. "What—er—why do you ask me that question?"

   "Mr. Fordham probably thought it strange that you could be dealing in stocks and teaching school at the same time," answered Bert's father, dryly.

   At this announcement Job Haskers' jaw dropped.

   "I—I don't understand you," he stammered.

   "Well, you will understand in a minute," returned the rug dealer, blandly. He raised his voice. "Boys, I guess you had better come in now!"

   The boys had listened to all that was said, and now they lost no time in filing into Mr. Fordham's bedroom.

   Job Haskers stared at them in amazement, and his face dropped in consternation.

   "Porter!" he gasped. "And Morr and Lawrence! Wha—what does this—er—mean?"

   "Perhaps you know as well as we do," answered Dave, sharply.

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