“It’s funny,” said I, “how seldom I meet any of the old neighbor-boys. Do you see any of them in your travels?”
“Not often,” he answered, “but you remember little Ed Smith, who lived on the Hayes place for a while, and brought the streaked snake into the schoolhouse while Julia Fanning was teaching? Well, he was an architect at Garden City, and lives in Chicago now. We sort of chum together: saw him yesterday. He left Garden City when the land company went up. I tell you, that was a hot town for a while! Railroads, and factories, and irrigation schemes, and prices scooting toward the zenith, till you couldn’t rest. If I’d got into that push soon enough, I shouldn’t have made a thing but money; as it was, I didn’t lose only what I had. A good many of the boys lost a lot more. But I tell you, Al, a boom properly boomed is a sure thing.”
“You’re a constant source of surprise to me, Jim,” said I. “I should have thought them sure to lose.”
“They’re sure to win,” said he earnestly.
I demurred. “I don’t see how that can possibly be,” said I, “for of all things, booms seem to me the most fickle and incalculable.”
“They seem so,” said he, smiling, but still in earnest, “to your rustic and untaught mind, and to most others, because they haven’t been studied. The comet, likewise, doesn’t seem very stable or dependable; but to the eye of the astronomer its orbit is plain, and the time of its return engagement pretty certain. It’s the same with seventeen-year locusts—and booms; their visits are so far apart that the masses forget their birthmarks and the W’s on their backs. But if you’ll follow their appearances from place to place, as I’ve done, putting up my ante right along for the privilege, you’ll become an accomplished boomist; and from the first gentle stirrings of boom-sprouts in the soil, so to speak, you can forecast their growth, maturity, and collapse.”
“I must be permitted to doubt it,” said I.
“It’s easy, my son,” he resumed, “dead easy, and it’s psychology on the hugest scale; and among the results of its study is constant improvement of the mind, going on coincidentally with the preparation of the way to the ownership of steam-yachts and racing-stables, or any other similar trifles you hanker for.”
“Great brain, Jim! Massive intellect!” said I, laughing at the fantastic absurdity of his assertion. “Why, such knowledge as you possess is better than straight tips on all the races ever to be run. It’s better than our tropical island and Spanish galleons. You get richer, and you don’t have to look out for men-of-war. Do I hold my job as Grand Vizier?”
“You hold any job you’ll take: I’ll make out the appointment with the position and salary blank, and you can fill it up. And if you get dissatisfied with that, the old grand hailing-sign of distress will catch the speaker’s eye, any old time. But, I tell you, Al, in all seriousness, I’m right about this boom business. They’re all alike, and they all have the same history. With the conditions right, one can be started anywhere in a growing country. I’ve had my ear to the ground for a while back, and I’ve heard things. I’m sure I detect some of the premonitory symptoms: money piling up in the financial centers; property away down, but strengthening, in the newer regions; and, lately, a little tendency to take chances in investments, forgetting the scorching of ten or twelve years ago. A new generation of suckers is gettin’ ready to bite. Look into this thing, Al, and don’t be a chump.”
“The same old Jim,” said I; “you were manipulating a corner in tobacco-tags while I was learning my letters.”
“Do you ever forget anything?” he inquired. “I have about forgotten that myself. How was that tobacco-tag business, Al?”
Then with the painstaking circumstantiality of two old schoolmates luxuriating in memories, we talked over the tobacco-tag craze which swept through our school one winter. Everything in life takes place in school, and the “tobacco-tag craze” has quite often recurred to me as showing boys acting just as men act, and Jimmie Elkins as the born stormy petrel of financial seas.
It all came back to our minds, and we reconstructed this story. The manufacturers of “Tomahawk Plug” had offered a dozen photographs of actresses and dancers to any one sending in a certain number of the tin hatchets concealed in their tobacco. The makers of “Broad-axe Navy” offered something equally cheap and alluring for consignments of their brass broad-axes. The older boys began collecting photographs, and a market for tobacco-tags of certain kinds was established. We little fellows, though without knowledge of the mysterious forces which had given value to these bits of metal, began to pick up stray tags from sidewalk, foot-path, and floor. A marked upward tendency soon manifested itself. Boys found their “Broad-axe” or “Door-key” tags, picked up at night, doubled in value by morning. The primary object in collecting tags was forgotten in the speculative mania which set in. Who would exchange “Tomahawk” tags for the counterfeit presentment of décolleté dancers, when by holding them he could make cent-per-cent on his investment of hazel-nuts and slate-pencils?
The playground became a Board of Trade. We learned nothing but mental arithmetic applied to deals in “Door-keys,” “Arrow-heads,” and other tag properties. We went about with pockets full of tags.
Jim, not yet old enough to admire the beauties of the photographs, came forward in a week as the Napoleon of tobacco-tag finance. He acquired tags in the slumps, and sold them in the bulges. He raided particular brands with rumors of the vast supply with which the village boys were preparing to flood us. He converted his holdings into marbles and tops. Finally, he planned his master-stroke. He dropped mysterious hints regarding some tag considered worthless. He asked us in whispers if we had any. Others followed his example, and “Door-key” tags went above all others and were scarce at any price. Then Jimmie Elkins brought out the supply which he had “cornered,” threw it on the market, and before it had time to drop took in a large part of the playground currency. I lost to him a good drawing-slate and a figure-4 trap.
Jimmie pocketed his winnings, but the trouble attracted the attention of the teacher, and under adverse legislation a period of liquidation set in. The distress was great. Many found themselves with property which was not convertible into photographs or anything else. To make matters worse, the discovery was made that the big boys had left school to begin the spring’s work, and no one wanted the photographs. Bankrupt and disillusioned, we returned to the realities of kites, marbles, and knives, most of which we had to obtain from Jimmie Elkins.
“Yes,” said he, “it’s a good deal the same with booms. But if you understand ’em … eh, Al?”
“Well,” said I, really impressed now, “I’ll look into it. And when you get ready to sow your boom-seed, let me know. I change cars in a few minutes, and you go on. Come down and see me sometimes, can’t you? We haven’t had our talk half out yet. Doesn’t your business ever bring you down our way?”
“It hasn’t yet, but I’m coming down into that neck of the woods within six weeks, and I guess I can fix it so’s to stop off—mingling pleasure and business. It’s the only way the hustling philanthropist of my style ever gets any recreation.”
“Do it,” said I; “I’ll have plenty of time at my disposal; for I go out of office before that time; and I may want to go into your boom-hatchery.”
“On the theory that the great adversary of mankind runs an employment agency for ex’s? There’s the whistle for your junction. By George, Al, I can’t tell you how glad I am to have ketched up with you again! I’ve wondered about you a million times. Don’t let’s lose track of each other again.”
“No, no, Jim, we won’t!” The train was coming to a stop. “Don’t allow anything to side-track you and prevent that visit.”