Ellis Parker Butler

“ What kind 'of stock?"
"Out to Oroduna, Iowa, by mail," said Mr. Bunker, unstrapping his telescope valise. " 'Bout eight years ago. Three thousand dollars. Orobotoro Gold Mine."
"Never heard of it!" said Mr. Hick.
"Well, there she is!" said Mr. Bunker, slapping the pile of stock certificates on Mr. Hick's desk. "Never paid me a cent, and here's the letter Mr. Jebberson sent me; it says right here. 'We guarantee enormous profits.' "
"The swelled-up old idiot!" said Mr. Hick angrily, glaring at the crease-worn circular that Mr. Bunker had had printed Monday afternoon. "Orobotoro Gold! ”

“ I wonder if you could print me up some nice, likely-lookin' gold-mine stock?"
"Sure!" said the printer. "Sure! but between you and me, sir, gold-mine stock aint what folks are crazy for now. If you want to catch 'em now, you ought to have oil-well or copper or motion-picture stock printed, or stick to this war-baby kind—munitions or something like that. Look at how this Timpantee and Podwolloger and Camera King is advertising!"
"Seems like I did take notice of it," said Mr. Bunker. "I guess maybe you're right; fashions change, don't they? ”

“ Aint it kind of gamblin'?"
"All depends," said Mr. Bunker as he removed his shoes. "Some stock-sellin' aint gamblin'—it's straight bunco-business, Ma."
"Oh!" said Mrs. Banker, much relieved. "Then it's all right. Maybe the kind of stock-sellin' Mis' Jebberson's husband is doin' is bunco-business. If it is, I don't feel so bad. Jabez, do you reckon it is bunco stock-sellin' he is into?"
"Shouldn't wonder, Ma," said Mr. Bunker. "He sort of strikes me as the kind of feller that would sell bunco stocks."
"Yes," said Mrs. Bunker placidly, "he is a nice man, aint he?" ”

“ Don't do nothin' you'll be ashamed of, but if you have a chance to bunk, bunk good and hard. A man had ought to put his whole heart in his work."
"Yes, Ma," he answered; "I wouldn't feel honest if I slighted my work."
Once before, Mr. Bunker had had occasion to do business with a small printer in one of the side streets off Fifth Avenue, and now he went there again. The printer looked up as Mr. Bunker entered.
"Hello!" he said. "How's the Italian-American War Supply Company?" for that was the name Mr. Bunker had had printed on certain stock-certificates at his former visit. ”

“ Jebberson agreed.
"They certainly ought to make the heart of an easy mark happy," she said. "The Colonel was saying to me that the time for him to make money out of this stock game was right now, because everybody would jump into it as soon as they saw what a lot of money Jebberson & Hick were making. If this don't prove it, I don't know what does, but I don't know who I would rather see make money than your husband, Mrs. Bunker. Only—"
"Only what?" asked Mr. Bunker.
"Only I do think you hadn't ought to have blown your cash for gold-mine certificates. Gold mines are back numbers. ”

“ It was an advertisement of "The Timpantee Oil Wells Company, Jebberson & Hick, Fiscal Agents."
"Where kin I find them folks at?" he asked.
The policeman grinned. It was not his duty to steer innocent country folk away from Jebberson & Hick. He took Mr. Bunker by the arm and pointed down Wall Street.
"You see that building down that street?" he said. "That's Wall Street, and that's the building you're looking for. You go into that building, and you'll find a man there in uniform. He's the elevator starter. You ask him where to find Jebberson & Hick and he'll tell you. ”

“ Many a promoter has gone out of sight forever because, in a moment of enthusiasm, he has written into his prospectus "We feel safe in promising—"
The week after Jebberson & Hick began advertising Podwolloger Munitions, they advertised with equal publicity Camera King Photoplay Company, capital stock $100,000,000.
"Well," said Mrs. Jebberson to Mrs. Bunker the Sunday morning the Camera King Photoplay Company advertisement first appeared, "I guess it's pack the trunks for me."
"Goin' to move?" asked Mr. Bunker. ”

“ This was wise, because time and again fake companies that had seemed veritable gold mines for their promoters had jolted against the law by promising what they could not perform. Many an eager fiscal agent and promoter has had to drop a bonanza and fly into hiding because he was so careless as to promise some definite return on a sucker's investment. ”

“ Bunker. "Matter of fact, Ma, I aint startin' for nowhere; I'm arrivin' from Oroduna, as you may say. I'm an old fool of an Iowa farmer arrivin' in New York and gawkin' up at the tall buildings. I'm a jay with straw clingin' to my heel, and the stable smell not quite wafted out o' my clothes."
"Jabez!" said Mrs. Bunker sharply, "don't you talk to me that way! Where be you makin' this trip to?"
"Well, Ma," said Mr. Bunker seriously, "I'm goin' down to Wall Street to bunk folks there. I'm goin' down to sell some o' this Orobotoro Gold Mine stock before it gets fly-specked. Don't you fret, Ma ”

“ Mr. Bunker agreed with her. Not for all the money in the world would he have turned his hand to anything dishonest, but bunco-steering was an easy, respectable. calling. It kept Mr. Bunker from getting rusty, and as the cashier of the Oroduna Bank had once told Mr. Bunker: "It's a favor to take money from them New Yorkers; when they aint being stung, they don't know they're alive."
The Jebbersons were a different couple entirely. Colonel Jebberson was an elderly and distinguished-looking gentleman, but at the time Mr. and Mrs. Bunker first entered Mrs. ”

“ Bunker placed it in his pocket. From the closet he dragged his empty oil-board telescope valise, and into this he threw a few garments. From the neat pile of Orobotoro Gold Mine shares he selected enough to represent three thousand dollars par value, and these he placed in the telescope valise on top of the garments.
"Pa," asked Mrs. Bunker anxiously, "be you goin' to take a trip somewheres?"
"Yes, Ma, I be," said Mr. Bunker, his eyes twinkling; "us bunco men don't ever know when we got to go travelin'."
"Are ye goin' to be gone long, Jabez?" asked his wife. ”