H. A. Lamb

“ Business is business and friends are friends—that’s my motto. But if you really want some—”
Barclay thought again of the giant ships. No need to tell him what money-makers these were, or how great the demand for more of their kind would be. Mahoney’s words were echoing in his mind: “A man who has worked hard has a right—to a good living.”
Twelve hundred dollars a year would keep him and his wife comfortably. He had seen the giant shipyard, and the price quoted in the newspaper. His only fear was that there might not be any of the stock to be had. ”

“ Barclay rose, slipping the wallet into his pocket.
“I might go as high as six thousand—maybe,” protested the jeweler. “Look here. You won’t get a better price anywhere else in the city—not in these times. I thought you wanted to sell.”
“That right—at twelve thousand.”
“But—”
“I’ll tell you what I got my mind set on.” The skipper bent closer to Braddock, a peculiar gleam in his deep-set eyes, “No, I’m not crazy. I want to buy some more of a kind of stock I’ve invested in. I want twelve thousand dollars to buy that stock.” ”

“ Enough to get him back to California. But he knew that the men who had swindled him of four thousand dollars were beyond his reach. He recalled his interview with Braddock, the smooth manner of the man, the readiness with which the jeweler had paid the price he asked for the pearls. No one else had known he had the money.
Barclay was not accustomed to feel sorry for himself when he was cheated in a trade. But the four thousand dollars had meant much to him. And he had been robbed by men he had trusted—his own kind. ”

“ I sell its stock for a living”—the flicker of a smile passed over the man’s alert face unobserved by the seaman—“and it’s pretty soft for me, because the stock just about sells itself. It pays thirty per cent a year, and it’s so good everybody wants it.”
He ordered a steak, well done, and gazed reflectively at Barclay. The skipper had said little. But Mahoney had not forgotten Braddock’s tip.
“This shipyard stock is so safe,” he said confidentially, “that it’s an A1 investment for people who don’t want to worry about their money. Thousands get a fine income from it.” ”

“ Jim Mahoney had divided up promptly and fairly.
“Well, show him in,” he said sharply.
“When the seaman loomed in the door, he smiled cordially.
“Glad to see you again, Cap’n Barclay. Anything I can do for you?”
There was a shade of relief in his voice. Certainly the skipper did not look like one who knew that he had been robbed. Of course he had no claim against him—Braddock—but the jeweler was sometimes nervous, by temperament.
“I reckon there is, Mr. Braddock.”
Barclay seated himself and nodded cordially at the jeweler. “I reckon there is. You gave me a good price for those small pearls. ”

“ Barclay’s broad mouth tightened, but he said nothing.
“Mahoney picked you for a sucker—no offense, cap’n. He showed you our plant and sold you his own stock—printed by one of these fly-by-night gangs. The quotes in the paper were ours—but he twisted the initials to suit his bogus firm, the shipyard company. Probably that stock-certificate is worth ten cents, maybe less. We can’t do anything for you.”
“I guess you can’t.” Barclay spoke quietly. He was not the one to whine over a loss. “I’ll have the law on that man Braddock.”
“Hold on,” Henderson checked him. “What can you do? ”

“ He pushed forward a chair.
“Sit down, Mr.—Cap’n Barclay. I’m sorry you invested your money in this swindle. But we can’t keep everybody out of our plant. One or two other cases like this have come to my notice. I’d give something to get my hand on the scoundrel who’s pulling off this stunt. It hurts our credit. Can you identify this Mahoney?”
Barclay ruminated, tugging at his whiskers fiercely. Carefully he described to Henderson how he had come to buy the stock. ”

“ The other part was that higher prices for his holdings might be had in New York than in Honolulu or Frisco. He was sure of this. He had heard of pearls sold by companion traders at Frisco which fetched double the price later in New York. So Barclay had come where the best prices were to be had.
Much was at stake on his trip. A month ago he had sold his schooner at Honolulu and taken passage to Frisco. Barclay had traded for fifteen years, and Matilda Barclay had asked him to stay ashore. They had a cottage on the coast near Oakland, a married daugther, and a grandson, who was in school. ”

“ A sudden fear tugged at the skipper’s heart.
“Ain’t that all right?” he rumbled anxiously. “It’s stock in your comp’ny.”
“No, it isn’t—it’s stock in the New York Shipyard Company, whatever that may be. We are the New York Ship Construction Company. Likewise, Mr. Barclay, we employ no salesmen. Never have.”
Barclay did not grasp the full meaning of this at once.
“But—hold hard, Mr. Henderson—I bought your stock. The one that’s printed in the newspaper tally list—N.Y.S.C.”
“This isn’t our stock. Our issue is quoted on the Stock Exchange under the initials you mention. Somebody’s swindled you. ”

“ It’s unusual—”
“That’s a mighty fine pearl.”
“Well, people aren’t paying high prices now. This is all right for a curio.” He replaced the sphere on its case with a caressing gesture. What price d’you expect to get?
“Twelve thousand dollars.”
Barclay spoke calmly. The jeweler stared; then shook his head with a sneer. Twelve thousand! Complete in a royal setting, the black pearl might bring ten thousand in time from the right person. But he, Braddock, could not get much more than half that figure, at the present market. And he did business on a cash basis—for good reasons. ”

“ Then he retired to a closet behind his desk. He shut the door of the closet and unhooked a telephone.
“Give me Dorgan’s café,” he told the operator.
Evidently the switchboard operator was familiar with this call, for Braddock got his connection at once.
“Jim Mahoney there?” he asked briskly, and waited. “That you, Jim? This is Braddock—yes. Say, you’re the man I want. I got a customer on the hook here—pearls, good ones. I’m handing him forty-six hundred in cash in a half-hour.”
Mahoney’s voice was sharp.
“What sort of a guy is he?”
“Ripe, and a real boob. A trader—the South Seas. ”

“ The longest-living author of this work died in 1962, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 60 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works. ”