Out of all the many confiding investors who were robbed by Weston & Hill, only a few need be mentioned. Winn's aunt, Mrs. Converse, was the most flagrant case of pure theft, for she was deceived through the vilest of all methods, a religious one. Weston, a merciless wolf in sheep's clothing, a pew-holder in her church and plausible hypocrite, who talked the golden rule, but belonged to Satan's host, easily duped her by his professions, and worse than that, gave her no possible chance of escape. The widow whose only aid in the battle for existence was the scanty earnings of her child in the office of those two sharpers, was perhaps the most pitiful one, for she lost every dollar that stood between her and the poorhouse. There were others entitled to less consideration,—clerks in stores who, bitten by the gambling instinct, hazarded one or two months' wages and lost them; cashiers in two or three banks, tempted as usual, to use money not their own to speculate with; and men about town on the watch for a good chance to "take a flyer." Most of these latter lost their money in the bucket shops, and by almost as culpable methods as Weston & Hill, for those who were buyers of Rockhaven on a margin when it went up to forty and down to nothing in a few hours were not present in these robbers' dens to take their profits, and when the fiasco was over, were merely told its sudden fall had wiped them out. Those of more experience in the way of speculation, and who had "gone short of it," as the phrase goes, were of course sold out or closed out in Rockhaven's wild leap upward, and like most who trust their money in a bucket-shop keeper's hands, knew nothing about it until informed that they had lost all they invested.

And here and now it seems a duty to interpose a word of warning against bucket shops.

We enact and try to enforce laws against all forms of gambling; we claim the right to invade the privacy of homes, even, where card playing for money is an occasional evening's pastime, and the law says that a gambling debt is no debt at all. We even assist the loser in gambling by allowing him to sue and recover his loss, when, as a matter of morals, he is just as guilty as the one who wins; and yet we allow these stock-gambling offices to open on all sides.

There is not a city of ordinary size where half a dozen do not flourish, and hardly a country village that has not one or more, ready to tempt incipient speculators to invest in the gambler's chance. They all do business on the same basis, viz., bet against the fool who buys or sells on a margin. They do not actually buy or sell a share of stock; their managers are merely like the dealers in a faro bank, paid to run the game. Their sole stock in trade is a leased wire over which to receive quotations, a handsomely fitted office bearing the legend, "Bankers and Brokers" (it should be, Bankers and Breakers), a gilt-lettered fiction of capital invested—and unlimited nerve!

They know full well that the lambs who stray into their den, and by good luck secure a small profit, will at once grow vain of their speculative skill and invest again. Even if these dupes win twice or thrice, it only results in a greater exultation, and the end is the same—they lose.

It is as inevitable as the tides or the sun to the majority, and while now and then one by sheer luck may win at this great gambling game, nine out of ten will lose, and the keeper of the shop rides in an automobile while they walk!

If these parlors of temptation were open only to men who realized the chances they were taking and could afford to lose, it would be a different matter; but all who wish to gamble may enter, and the cashier of your bank, paid a pittance that is but a premium on dishonesty, is liable to be the first one. And when he, lured on and on by that elusive hope that next time his guess may be right, has falsified books and made ducks and drakes of your money, you wake up some fine morning to read the old, old story, and learn that he has journeyed abroad.

And the bucket-shop keeper across the way smiles softly to himself and says nothing.

And Puck, looking down upon us human ants, also smiles and says, "What fools these mortals be."

The Great Rockhaven Granite Company, only one out of a thousand others of similar end and aim, was but a mere ripple on the sea of speculation. It was active while it lasted, it brought sorrow and tears to many, a small fortune to a few, transferring to them the money of others, and left dishonor and disgrace in its wake. On "the street" it was a nine days' wonder how so colossal a scheme could be foisted upon them and carried so near a successful culmination, and then, as usual, it was forgotten. Others as transparent took its place, and so the mad wave of speculation rolled on in the city.

But on Rockhaven there was rejoicing.