Edwin Lefevre

“ We shall make the stock market contribute to your missionary fund. All you’ll have to do is to look on the financial page of your paper every evening and keep posted.”
“I fear, Brother Shaw,” said Dr. Ramsdell, deprecatingly, “that I shall have no little trouble in—ah—keeping posted.”
“Not at all. See, here,” and he took up his paper and turned to the stock tables. “Draw up your chair, Doctor. You see, here is Erie. Yesterday, on transactions of 18,230 shares, Erie Railroad stock sold as high as 643⁄4 and as low as 631⁄4, the last or closing sale being at 641⁄2. ”

“ The reverend doctor went across the Street to the office of one of his parishioners, Walter H. Cranston, a stock broker.
Mr. Cranston was bemoaning the appalling lack of business and making up his mind about certain Delphic advice he contemplated giving his timid customers, in order to make them “trade,” which would mean commissions, when Dr. Ramsdell’s card was brought.
“Confound him, what does he want to come around, bothering a man at his business for?” he thought. But he said: “Show him in, William.” ”

“ Ramsdell. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”
“I’ve called to see you about our Missionary Fund. You know I take a great deal of interest in it. We desire to build a chapel in Bolivia, where the light is needed, Brother Cranston, as much as in China, I assure you. And it is so much nearer home.”
“Doctor, I really—” began Cranston, with an injured air.
“I want your valuable autograph to head the subscription list,” said the clergyman with an air he endeavored to make arch and playful. “Don’t refuse me.”
“Why don’t you try some well-known person?” said Cranston, modestly. ”

“ It was very strong. Haven’t you got a report on that 500 Erie yet, John?”
“Yes, sir,” said John. “Sixty-five and one-eighth.”
“You see, Doctor, the stock is still going up. Well, every day when you look on the table you will see at what price Erie stock is selling. If it is more than 651⁄8, why, that will show you are making money. Every point up, that is, every unit, will mean that your missionary fund is $500 richer.”
“And—Brother Shaw—ahem!—if it should be—ah—less?”
“What’s the use of thinking such things, Dr. Ramsdell? All you have to remember is that I am going to make some money for you ”

“ One day, after a series of skirmishes and a final pitched battle in “South Shore” between the Old Man and the bears, when the pelts of the latter, after the capitulation, added nearly a half million to the old fellow’s bank account, certain luminaries of the Methodist Episcopal Church were called into consultation. ”