Authors: David Maurer
“O.K.,” says Duff. “I’ll see you there.”
The next morning Mr. Savage and Mr. Meade breakfast together. They have ham and griddle-cakes, for strenuous times are ahead. There is no use to play for a mark when he is faint with hunger. As they are enjoying their meal, Mr. Meade suddenly rises in his seat and peers through the window which gives directly on the street. Mr. Savage
has a glimpse of a large, chauffeured limousine pulling away from the curb.
“Did you see that man in that big car?” asks Meade. “He looks to me like a friend of my uncle’s down in Fort Worth. Let me see, what was his name? Duff, that’s it. Duff. He was in on some deals with my uncle. He’s some kind of a big-shot in Wall Street.”
“He certainly drives a swell car,” says Mr. Savage. “But I didn’t get a very good look at him.”
“If he is staying here in Denver, I’d like to look him up,” says Meade. “But I suppose it would be impossible to find him.”
Conversation turns to the stock market, and Mr. Savage holds forth at some length on his investments. They finish breakfast and Mr. Meade picks up the checks.
Mr. Savage likes Mr. Meade. He is a native Texan. It is pleasant to hear that drawl up here in Colorado. And Mr. Meade is such a quiet, mild-mannered man with pale blue eyes and a kindly face. He is past middle age, with a sizable nest egg laid away. And he knows some of the people in Brownsville where Mr. Savage lived as a boy. He shares Mr. Savage’s penchant for walking and seems to appreciate Mr. Savage’s effort to acquaint him with Denver. They get along very well.
After breakfast they start out for a brief walk before Mr. Savage goes out to attend the convention he has come up for. The air is crisp and invigorating. The trees are blossoming out with the first warm days of spring. Mr. Meade produces two of the long, strong stogies which Mr. Savage has smoked for years. They walk briskly and Mr. Savage volubly discusses the problems of the wholesale fruit business.
Suddenly Mr. Meade seizes his companion’s arm and calls attention to a large car parked by the curb. Savage recognizes the big Packard. A distinguished-looking gentleman with a deeply lined face is sitting in the back seat
busily engaged in studying a sheaf of telegrams through a pince-nez.
This method of tying up the mark is known as the point-out. It does not have the advantage which finding the leather has of immediately obligating the insideman to make investments for his two benefactors, but in the hands of first-rate confidence men it produces very good results.
“Do you see that man over there?” asks Meade. “Why, that is Mr. Duff. He is the man we saw at breakfast. I was sure I wasn’t mistaken. He made over a million on the stock market down in Fort Worth. The papers were full of his pictures. I’ll bet he is doing the same thing up here.”
Mr. Savage finds himself headed, willy nilly, for the unsuspecting Mr. Duff.
“I wonder if he remembers me,” muses Mr. Meade. “Maybe we could get him to give us some tips.”
Mr. Duff glares in annoyance over his glasses at the two strangers who are peering into the car. Mr. Meade extends his hand.
“What are you doing up here?” he asks.
“I don’t believe I know you, sir,” says Mr. Duff icily. “Are you a reporter?”
“Why, don’t you remember me?” says Mr. Meade. “I’m Charley Meade from Brownsville, Texas. Judge Smith from Fort Worth is my uncle. I was visiting him last winter. Don’t you remember, he introduced us up in his chambers? You and the Judge had just cleaned up a lot of money on the stock market. Don’t you recall?”
Mr. Duff remembers. “Yes, yes,” he says. “And the old Judge certainly did think a lot of you. Told me you were the only one of his kin that really gave a damn about him.” Mr. Duff laughs genially and Mr. Meade joins in. “The old Judge is quite a character. And a very shrewd man, let me tell you that. He and I have been in on many a deal together. If it hadn’t been for the newspapers, we
would have cleaned up another million in Fort Worth. But the reporters got wise and they ruined me. For heaven’s sake, don’t let it be known that I’m here, or they will hound me to death. Look here what they did to me down in Sacramento.”
He produces the conventional newspaper clipping, much like the one used in the pay-off except that it recounts Mr. Duff’s phenomenal exploits in stocks in that community.
Mr. Meade agrees to silence. He introduces Mr. Savage with the enthusiasm which native Texans show for one another.
“I can vouch for Mr. Savage,” says Meade. “He is one square shooter. He knows a lot of the home folks down in Brownsville. You don’t have to worry about his letting anything out.
“Mr. Duff,” says the roper, “I have always wanted to invest on one of your tips ever since the Judge dealt with you, but I never had a chance to ask you. Would you consider giving me a tip or two, just to make expenses?”
Mr. Duff hesitates. Then he warms up and says it will be a pleasure to serve any friends of old Judge Smith. Mr. Meade fishes out his wallet and extracts fifty dollars. “Why don’t you give him fifty, too?” asks Meade, turning to the mark.
Mr. Savage may consider himself a plunger and hand over fifty. If he demurs, Mr. Meade waves his hand generously and says, “That’s all right. You don’t know this man, Mr. Savage. Just invest that fifty for both of us, and we’ll divide any profit.”
Mr. Savage feels properly put in his place, and wonders why he didn’t agree to invest fifty also. If there were to be any profits, he would have made twice as much. Mr. Duff takes the fifty, puts it in his wallet, chats a moment, looks at his watch, and says he must be at the exchange when it opens.
“Now be sure,” he cautions them, “never to breathe a word of this—least of all to a reporter. Good-by.”
“But where will we see you?” asks Meade. “We are over at the Granada. Where are you staying?”
“Oh, that’s right,” says Duff. “I’ll want to see you soon. You are over at the Granada. Well, you go on over there and I’ll call on you there some time this morning. Good-by.” Mr. Duff speaks to the driver and the big car purrs away.
“Who is that fellow?” asks Savage, once Duff has gone.
“Why,” says Meade, “he is an expert stock manipulator. The Judge told me all about how he works. He is an agent for a combine of big Wall Street brokers who are trying to break up the branch stock exchanges and bucket shops. They have millions behind them. They control the rise and fall of prices of large blocks of stock, and then tip him off whether to buy or sell. He makes plenty of money at it. He can hardly lose.”
“Oh,” says Mr. Savage, and contemplates this vast idea.
Usually the insideman tells the tale, as he did in the wire and the pay-off, but here, for the sake of variety, the roper tells it. There are several advantages in having the insideman tell it. First, the insideman is almost always a better operator than the roper; he has had unlimited experience in handling marks and has an uncanny sense of how to deal with people. Second, it is a very propitious moment to bring the mark under the influence of the insideman, who will control the play from this point on. Third, the mark already knows the roper and it is comforting to him to have someone he knows to talk the matter over with; when the mark sees the roper convinced by the insideman’s story, the power of suggestion is brought to bear on him.
The two men return to their hotel. Mr. Savage skimps his first morning sessions at the convention so that he may be back when Duff returns. He has just returned to
the room when Mr. Duff ’phones from the lobby. They tell him to come on up. He enters. He has taken on added stature in Mr. Savage’s eyes. He is a genuine capitalist. And he looks the part.
“Well, gentlemen,” says Mr. Duff, “I invested that fifty dollars for you along with a deal of my own. The returns were just $150—not much, but enough to pay your hotel bill. Here it is.”
He takes out an envelope where the earnings of Mr. Meade and Mr. Savage are kept, separate from his other numerous transactions.
“Thank you a lot,” says Meade. “Here, Mr. Savage, is your half.”
Mr. Savage may need no second offer. But the chances are that he feels compelled by etiquette to refuse. Mr. Meade insists. Mr. Duff interposes.
“Here, here, gentlemen. Why argue about it? Mr. Savage, I’ll take your half. And Mr. Meade, I’ll take yours. And I’ll invest both of them when I get back to the exchange. Then there will be no argument. You can each have what your share nets you.”
He pockets the money, putting it carefully back into the envelope. They chat a bit, and Mr. Savage is very much impressed with Mr. Duff. When he goes out, Mr. Savage wishes that he had the nerve to add a hundred more to the seventy-five which will be invested for him.
Just after lunch Mr. Duff stops by again. He hands each man $225, and waves away their thanks graciously. “It is certainly a pleasure,” he says, “to do a favor for friends of the old Judge. His friends are always my friends.”
In playing Mr. Savage, we have, in order to prevent the game from becoming unduly complicated, assumed that Mr. Duff is the permanent insideman, that the mark has been roped by a single roper, and that it has been possible to move him directly to the city where the big store is
located. Ordinarily the best ropers work in pairs and give the mark several convincing plays before he is moved to the big store, as described in
The Mob.
Here a single roper and the permanent insideman are giving him the convincers.
This sort of play goes on for some little time—perhaps for the rest of the day, perhaps well into the next day. As soon as Duff and Meade decide that Mr. Savage is thoroughly hooked, the big play begins. By this time we shall say that Mr. Savage has made $1,500 from the humble $25 put up for him by Mr. Meade, and that he now has the money in his pocket. Both he and Mr. Meade want Duff to keep on investing their money for them.
But Mr. Duff is a very busy man. He must make a flying trip down to Albuquerque and back. He doesn’t see why they can’t make their own investments. He will introduce them at the exchange and furnish them with the necessary information which he receives regularly by wire from New York. He seems to have taken a great fancy to Mr. Savage. And Mr. Savage feels that Mr. Duff is very agreeable and democratic to be such a power in the financial world.
“But, gentlemen,” says Mr. Duff, “what are you going to make your money with? Not that little $1,500 apiece I made for you, surely. Does either of you have a bank account here?”
Neither one has.
“Well,” says Duff, “here is a blank check. Now follow my instructions. Make this check for, say, $100,000.” Mr. Savage is frightened at the thought of signing such a check. Mr. Meade hesitates because he says he never could make good a check of that size.
“You will never have to,” says Duff. “Just follow my instructions and that $100,000 will double itself. Then you can take up the check and have a hundred thousand clear profit. Oh, yes. Here, Mr. Savage, give Mr. Meade
that $1,500. Now, Meade, add your $1,500. Now you have $103,000 to invest. Gentlemen, you can’t make money without money to play with. Now, Meade, that check. Have you got it signed?”
He inspects the check and seems satisfied that everything is in good order.
That afternoon they are taken to the brokerage office and introduced to the manager as friends of Mr. Duff. “Give them anything they want,” says Duff. “They are friends of mine and I might add that they have very good connections down Texas way. Their credit is gilt-edged. I can vouch for that.”
Then he takes Meade and Savage cautiously aside. “Watch American Petroleum closely,” he says. “You will observe that even now it is very active. Buy $103,000 worth as soon as it goes under 3. It will fluctuate somewhat to throw any speculators off. Then the big orders will come through. When it reaches 5¾ sell and sell quickly, for it won’t hold there long.” Then he departs for Albuquerque.
The brokerage is doing a thriving business. Conservative, substantial-looking businessmen, brokers with cigarettes always alight, financiers, all buy and sell stocks and securities in very large blocks. Some of them deal in cash. Most of them have accounts. There is plenty of money in evidence, and it changes hands rapidly. The cashier always has a ready stack of “coarse ones” where they are visible to the customers. And the clerk at the cashier’s elbow is taking orders at the 'phone almost faster than he can write them out. “Yes, sir, Mr. Johnson,” he is saying, “yes, 50,000 shares of Consolidated Copper at $12.25 …. Yes, Mr. Forester. How many American Can? 15,000? Yes …”
This is, of course, the big store for the rag. It is a first-rate replica of a broker’s office, with the staff of brokers, board-markers, clerks, etc., and with tickers and stock-board
rapidly reflecting the ups and downs of leading issues. Mr. Savage does not suspect that the entire set-up is fake, or that all the customers are shills, carefully made up and instructed in their parts. They talk incessantly of stocks. They live stock, stock, stock. They plunge just as heavily as the boost for the pay-off did on the horses.
They watch American Petroleum. It is quoted at 3¾. Very shortly it moves, 3⅝ is chalked on the board. Then 3¼. Then 3⅛. Then 3. Meade and Savage grow tense. Then 2⅞. They invest their $103,000 in American Petroleum. Almost immediately, it goes down on the board to 2⅝. Half an hour later it is down to 2½. Mr. Savage feels a little apprehensive about his $1,500. But this is exactly what Mr. Duff had said it would do. Then it drops to 2⅜. There it stays. Then it moves again. Up to 2⅞. Mr. Meade and Mr. Savage sit back comfortably in their chairs and watch the board through the haze of cigar smoke. The chatter of stocks, the hum of the ticker makes them feel a sense of elation. Business is good. Mr. Savage is calling attention to their issue. It moves again. The boy puts up 3. Then 3⅛. Then 3⅝. The afternoon passes. It is near time for the markets to close. Their stock moves again. And rapidly, again. They can see that big blocks of it are being bought up in New York. It is up to 5⅛. Then 5¾. There it holds. Mr. Duff had said sell at 5¾.
They approach the cashier’s window with their receipt. The cashier is busy cashing receipts for men ahead of them. They wait. Mr. Meade holds the ticket. The cashier looks at it, and begins to pay them their $206,000. But the manager interposes.