ow deeply involved they were. He
knew.

"Some one's been buying large blocks of it. That's known," said Marsh,
calmer than the rest. "Ten to one it's Gunther's crowd. They had the
advance information. Ten to one they've laid the trap and sprung a
corner."

"No, nonsense! It's not as bad as that. If they're putting out an extra
dividend, the stock's going to jump up--for a while. That's all. And
then some one else may have a card up his sleeve," said Bojo, fighting
against conviction.

"Call up Drake," said Fred.

Bojo hesitated. The situation called for any measure. He went to the
telephone, after long minutes getting a response. Mr. Drake was out of
town on a hunting trip; was not expected back until the following night.
There remained Drake's agent Skelly, but a quick search of the book
revealed no home telephone.

"Can you put up more margin?" asked Bojo.

DeLancy shook his head.

"I can, but it may be better to take the loss," said Marsh. "We'll have
to wait and see. Quick work to-morrow! By the way, there's a call for
you from Forshay to be at the office by eight o'clock to-morrow. Well,
let's get a few winks of sleep if we can. Luck of the game!"

"I'm sorry," said Bojo desperately.

"Shut up. We're over age," said Marsh, thumping him on the back, but
DeLancy went to his room, staring. The moment he was gone Marsh turned
to Bojo. "Look here, whatever we do we've got to save Fred. You and I
can stand a mauling. Fred's caught."

"If we can," said Bojo, without letting him know how serious the
situation was for him. "How deep in is he?"

"Close to 2,000 shares."

"Good heavens, where did he get the money?"

Marsh looked serious, shook his head, and made no further reply.

At seven o'clock, when Bojo was struggling up from a sleepless night,
Granning came into his room, awkwardly sympathetic.

"Look here, Bojo, is it as bad as the fellows feared?"

"Can't tell, Granny. Looks nasty."

"You in trouble too?"

Bojo nodded.

"I say, I've got that bond for a thousand tucked away," said Granning
slowly. "Use it if it'll help any."

"Bless your heart," said Bojo, really touched. "It's not a thousand,
Granny, that'll help now. You were right--gambler's luck!"

"Cut that out," said Granning, shifting from foot to foot. "I'm damned
sorry--tough luck, damned tough luck. I wish I could help!"

"You can't--no use of throwing good money after bad. Mighty white of you
all the same!"

* *