Part 8 (1/2)
”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 cas.h.i.+er 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. Pa.s.smore. ”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!”
CHAPTER VI
ANOTHER SURPRISE
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.
”You have been spying on me!”
”We are here by permission of Mr. Fordham,” returned Roger.
”How did you know I was to call?”
”Never mind about that,” put in Phil. ”We are here, and that is enough.”
”And we know all about what you are trying to do,” added Dave.
”This is a plot--a plot against me--to ruin me!” spluttered the former teacher of Oak Hall. ”Oh, you needn't try to disguise it! I know all of you!”
”We have no plot against you, Mr. Haskers,” replied Dave, calmly. ”If your business is perfectly legitimate----”
”Never mind about that!” interposed Job Haskers, hastily. He jammed the paper and his fountain pen in his pocket. ”You can't make a fool of me!
You have been following me up, and you mean to--to--do what you can to--er--get me into trouble.” He backed towards the doorway.
”What is your hurry, sir?” asked Mr. Pa.s.smore, and he quietly placed himself in front of the door.