VOObyM

to me to doubt it at the time.
Reminiscences of a Stock Operator
Didn't he have mine in his pocket? All I felt was curiosity. So I asked him, "How did
you get past the librarian?"
"I didn't see any librarian. I saw the Old Man himself. In his office."
"That's too much!" I said. Everybody knew that it was much harder to get into Mr.
Morgan's private office empty handed than into the White House with a parcel that
ticked like an alarm clock.
But he declared, "I did."
"But how did you get into his office?"
"How did I get into yours?" he retorted.
"I don't know. You tell me," I said.
"Well, the way I got into Morgan's office and the way I got into yours are the same. I
just talked to the fellow at the door whose business it was not to let me in. And the way
I got Morgan to sign was the same way I got you to sign. You weren't signing a contract
for a set of books. You just took the fountain pen I gave you and did what I asked you to
do with it. No difference. Same as you."
"And is that really Morgan's signature?" I asked him, about three minutes late with my
skepticism.
"Sure! He learned how to write his name when he was a boy."
"And that's all there's to it?"
"That's all," he answered. "I know exactly what I am doing. That's all the secret there is.
I am much obliged to you. Good day, Mr. Livingston." And he started to go out.
"Hold on," I said. "I'm bound to have you make an even two hundred dollars out of me."
And I handed him thirty-five dollars.
He shook his head. Then: "No," he said. "I can't do that. But I can do this!" And he took
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