ybody has guessed wrong and knocked the market off a
cent or two."

That made the Deacon's chin whiskers droop a little, but he began to ask
questions again, and by and by he discovered that away behind--about a
hundred miles behind, but that was close enough for the Deacon--a deal
in futures there were real wheat and pork. Said then that he'd been
misinformed and misled; that speculation was a legitimate business,
involving skill and sagacity; that his last scruple was removed, and
that he would accept the two hundred.

Bill brightened right up at that and thanked him for putting it so clear
and removing the doubts that had been worrying him. Said that he could
speculate with a clear conscience after listening to the Deacon's able
exposition of the subject. Was only sorry he hadn't seen him to talk it
over before breakfast, as the two hundred had been lying so heavy on his
mind all night that he'd got up early and mailed a check for it to the
Deacon's pastor and told him to spend it on his poor.

Zeke took the evening train home in order to pry that check out of the
elder, but old Doc. Hoover was a pretty quick stepper himself and he'd
blown the whole two hundred as soon as he got it, buying winter coal for
poor people.

I simply mention the Deacon in passing as an example of the fact that
it's easy for a man who thinks he's all right to go all wrong when he
sees a couple of hundred dollars lying around loose a little to one side
of the straight and narrow path; and that when he reaches down to pick
up the money there's usually a string tied to it and a small boy in the
bushes to give it a yank. Easy-come money never draws interest;
easy-borrowed dollars pay usury.

Of course, the Board of Trade and every other commercial exchange have
their legitimate uses, but all you need to know just now is that
speculation by a fellow who never owns more pork at a time than he sees
on his breakfast plate isn't one of them. When you become a packer you
may go on 'Change as a trader; until then you can go there only as a
sucker.

Your affectionate father,
JOHN GRAHAM.

+-----------------------------+
| No. 15 |
+-----------------------------+
| From John Graham, at |
| the Union Stock Yards |