A. M. Chisholm

“ IX. MORTIMER stepped off the train at Galena City with the air of a conqueror. He had one hundred thousand shares of Silver Queen safely tucked in his inside pocket; and, as these shares had been purchased at twenty cents and were as good as sold at fifty, they represented a profit of thirty thousand dollars. It was almost incredible, but he had the written promise of Colonel Jefferson Casimir, capitalist, to pay fifty cents per share. This, he reflected, was the way fortunes were made. Instead of drudging along on a salary and investing his money in farm mortgages at a beggarly five per cent. ”

“ He whistled.
"This isn't old Bill Lowrey's signature." he said. And after a moment's inspection: "And these aren't our certificates, either. Not that ours are worth much more; but these are forgeries. ”

“ The Silver Queen may be a good quarry, but it ain't a mine. There was ore once, but it has pinched out. The company is busted and high and dry. Some of us who were fools enough to sign notes to the bank for capital to develop with are being sued on 'em now. The Silver Queen is dead horse—wolf bait—all same the flowers of yesteryear. If you've bought any lithographs I'm sorry for you."
Mortimer drew out his bundle of certificates.
"I—I've a hundred thousand," he said in a choking voice, for after all he was very young, "and I paid twenty cents a share!" ”