Summary

Portrait of Edwin Lefevre Edwin Lefevre Wall Street Stories — The Woman and Her Bonds (1916)

Mr. Colwell smiled. Mrs. Hunt almost became indignant at his levity.
“Don’t let that worry you, Mrs. Hunt. The bonds are all right. The market is a trifle dull; that’s all.”
“A friend,” she said, very slowly, “who knows all about Wall Street, told me last night that it made a difference of $1,000 to me.”
“So it does, in a way; that is, if you tried to sell your bonds. But as you are not going to do so until they show you a handsome profit, you need not worry. Don’t be concerned about the matter, I beg of you. When the time comes for you to sell the bonds I’ll let you know.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Edwin Lefevre Edwin Lefevre Wall Street Stories — The Woman and Her Bonds (1916)

If you will give me a check for $35,000, leaving $3,000 with the trust company for emergencies, I shall buy some bonds which I feel reasonably certain will advance in price within a few months.”
“Ticky-ticky-ticky-tick,” interrupted the ticker. In some inexplicable way it seemed to him that the brassy sound had an ominous ring, so he added: “But you will have to let me know promptly, Mrs. Hunt. The stock market, you see, is not a polite institution. It waits for none, not even for your sex.”
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Edwin Lefevre Edwin Lefevre Wall Street Stories — The Woman and Her Bonds (1916)

Hunt. Good morning. You are going to do very well with those bonds if you only have patience.”
“Oh, I’ll be patient now that I know all about it; yes, indeed. And I hope your prophecy will be fulfilled. Good morning, Mr. Colwell.”
Little by little the bonds continued to decline. The syndicate in charge was not ready to move them. But Mrs. Hunt’s unnamed friend—her Cousin Emily’s husband—who was employed in an up-town bank, did not know all the particulars of that deal. He knew the Street in the abstract, and had accordingly implanted the seed of insomnia in her quaking soul.
Source: Wikisource

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