Montague said nothing.
"What do you wish to buy?" was the next question.
"Transcontinental Common," he replied.
"Well," said the other, after another pause-,-"we will try to accommodate you. But you will have toconsider it—er—"
"Strictly confidential," said Montague.
So Mr. Streeter made out the papers, and Montague, looking them over, discovered that they called for one hundred thousand dollars.
"That is a mistake," he said. "I have only sixty thousand."
"Oh,"said the other, "we shall certainly have to charge you a ten per cent, margin."
Montague was not prepared for this contingency; but he did some mental arithmetic. "What is the present price of the stock?" he asked.
"Fifty-nine and five-eighths," was the reply.
"Then sixty thousand dollars is more than ten per cent, of the m
