"My name is Luke Harding, and, so far as I know, I have not a single blood relation living--at least, none nearer than a third cousin. Two years ago I inherited my paternal estate. It was too small to support me in the manner of life to which I had been accustomed, and at the same time it was large enough to effectually deaden any inclination towards real work. As an inevitable consequent, I became a speculator.

Little by little my fortune has disappeared in the abyss of stock gambling; now it is gone entirely. To add to my misfortunes, my apartments were entered last night by burglars and literally cleaned out. I must have been drugged, for when I awoke this morning, with a bad headache, I could remember nothing of what had happened; there were only results to speak for themselves. The loot had been complete; the scoundrels had even carried off my ordinary garments, leaving me--what exquisite irony!--only this suit of evening clothes wherewith to cover my nakedness. Being somewhat sensitive to the proprieties, I was obliged to remain within doors until darkness fell, and I spent the time meditating upon my future course of action. As I have said, I have no relatives to whom I could apply, and my friends had already taxed themselves beyond reason in my behalf. It was clear, then, that I was born unlucky, and I concluded that I had no longer any right to a separate and independent existence. To one of my temperament suicide is a difficult proposition. Finally, I lit upon the idea which you have just witnessed in execution. A healthy, intelligent young man--surely there must be some market for his exclusive services? Fortunes used to be made in the African slave-trade.

"It only remains to add that I immediately started to realize upon these reasonable expectations. I went to the plaza at Fifty-ninth Street and Fifth Avenue and asked for bids. Unfortunately, no one seemed to take me seriously, and a policeman obliged me to move on. I had the same disheartening experience in front of Delmonico's and again in the Turkish room of the Waldorf-Astoria. It is August, you know, and the town is empty, but I was a bargain; I can say that without affectation. Merely to have bought me on speculation, with the idea of unloading on one of the Adirondack or White mountain hotel resorts--it would have been impossible to lose. But I could not get a bid, and so I shifted along down-town--Madison Square, Union Square, then westward by Jefferson Market and West Tenth Street. Ever edging a little closer to the river, you observe, and yet, upon my honor, I was not conscious of any definite volition in the matter; it was as though some one were gently pushing me along. Then Abingdon Square and your entrance upon the boards of my little drama--you and Mr. Bardi. Gentlemen, I thank you for your attention."

"I should say, Thorp," said Indiman, "that Mr. Harding is well qualified for membership in the Utinam Club. Will you put him up and I'll second him? The club," he added, by way of explanation to our guest, "is an a.s.sociation of the unsuccessful in life--the non-strenuous, the incapable--above all, the unlucky."

"Rest a.s.sured that my eligibility is beyond question," answered Mr.

Harding, with a smile. "In a society where misfortune confers a certain cachet I may confidently expect to attain distinction."

"Do you really consider yourself an abnormally unlucky person?" said Indiman, seriously. "I have a reason for asking."

"Upon my soul," returned the young man, warmly. "I verily believe that I have a genius for getting on the wrong side of things. If I should wager you that I am alive at this moment there would be a bolt out of the blue before the money could be paid over."

A heavily built man of elderly appearance entered the dining-hall. He was accompanied by a friend who might be a banker or broker. The pair picked out a table on the opposite side of the room and immediately plunged into earnest conversation, their heads close together and speaking in guarded undertones.

"The gentleman with the gray hair," said young Mr. Harding, eagerly, "that is Senator Morrison, chairman of the committee on foreign relations. He must be just in from Washington. Congress, you know, is in extra session."

"Ah, yes; an able man," said Indiman, politely.

"He would know--he would know," muttered Harding, disjointedly. His burning gaze fixed itself upon the two men at the distant table, as though by sheer will-power he would surprise the secret of their whispering lips. "He must--he does know."

"What?" asked Indiman.

"Man, man, it's a matter of millions! Panama Trading Company common stock is quoted at 70, and everything depends upon the pa.s.sage by the Senate of the ca.n.a.l treaty. The committee must have come to a decision, and Morrison knows. I tell you he knows--he knows. One word--it would be enough--Wall Street--Panama common--"

Indiman did not answer; he seemed preoccupied, indifferent even, his chair pushed back from the table and his eyes half closed. Let me explain that the small side-tables in the Utinam Club dining-room are not set flush against the wall, as is usually the case, but at some little distance from it. Consequently, when there is a party of three at a table, one man sits on the inside with his back to the wall, a sensible arrangement in that it allows the waiter free access by the unoccupied outer side of the table. It so happened that Indiman had this inside seat.

Harding's lips moved mechanically. "The treaty, the treaty!" he repeated again and again. "The committee reports to-morrow; the Senate is certain to act upon its recommendation. If I only knew!"

The conference at the other table was a brief one; its continuance had been measured by the consumption, on the part of the Senator, of a couple of biscuits and a gla.s.s of spirits-and-water. The two men rose and left the dining-room.

"Of course you are going back to-night, Senator," said the younger man as they pa.s.sed our table.

"At midnight. A hard trip."

"But a profitable one; don't forget that." They laughed and walked on.

For a little while we sat in silence over our cheese and salad. Then Indiman spoke up, suddenly:

"Mr. Harding."

The young man looked at him dully.

"The story of your persistent ill-fortune has interested me. But I find it difficult to believe in the consistency of bad luck; it must change sooner or later."

"Not for me," answered the young man, with quick conviction.

"I have a fancy to put that to the test. Take this card to my brokers--you know them, Sandford & Sands, of New Street. I have instructed them to place at your disposal a credit of one hundred thousand dollars. You will be at their office to-morrow morning, and at precisely ten o'clock you will receive from me a sealed communication containing certain information upon which you can rely absolutely. Use your credit according to your best judgment, and report the results to me at eight o'clock to-morrow evening. The address is on the card, and you will dine with me."

"I thank you," said the young man, simply. "If such a thing were possible--" He stopped and shook his head.

"Nonsense!" said Indiman, bluffly. "You must believe in yourself, man; it is the first requisite for success. To-morrow evening at eight, then."

Sitting over a final cigar in Indiman's library, he made me a sharer in the mystery. "It is simply that the ca.n.a.l treaty will be reported unfavorably to-morrow by the committee, and consequently it will fail to pa.s.s the Senate. How do I know? I heard it from Senator Morrison's own lips."

"Well?"

"As you know, the dining-hall of the Utinam Club is of a circular shape, and it happens to possess certain peculiar acoustic properties.

In other words, it is a whispering-gallery, and it so chanced that Senator Morrison sat at one of the definite points--they call them vocal foci, I think--and I at the other. That is the whole story."

"You are quite sure--there can be no mistake?"

"Not the slightest doubt. The man with Morrison is a broker, and he has the Senator's order to sell ten thousand Panama common at the market to-morrow. When the news of the treaty's failure to pa.s.s reaches Wall Street, by the regular channels, the stock will break sharply and the profits on the deal should be enormous. No wonder that Senator Morrison's flying trip to New York should be worth the taking."

"And Harding?"

"It remains to be proven whether the fault lies in the man himself or in his alleged bad luck. I am sending him the bare fact as to the ca.n.a.l bill's fate, and it is for him to seize the skirts of chance. I'll write the note now and deliver it at the office myself in the morning.

Then we will see."

"We will see," I echoed, and we parted for the night.

At one o'clock the following afternoon Indiman and I stood watching the ticker in an up-town broker's office.

"The Senate rejects the ca.n.a.l treaty," read out Indiman. "Now for the next quotation of Panama common; the last sale was at 70 1/2. Will you take the tape, Mr. Barnes?"

There was an instant's pause in the click-click of the instrument, the heart-gripping lull before the breaking of the tempest. Then the wheels began to revolve again, and the white tape, our modern thread of the Norns, sped through the twitching fingers of the young chap to whom Indiman had yielded place.

"Five hundred Pan. com., 68," he read out. "One thousand, 67 1/2; four hundred, 67; two thousand, 65. I guess I've seen enough, gentlemen; it's my--my finish." He gulped down something in his throat and walked over to the water-cooler,

"And enough for us," whispered Indiman. "Let us go."

"It's the way of the world," I philosophized as we gained the street.

"One man up and another down. He is young; he will have his chance again."

"It is Harding's day," said Indiman.

Panama common had closed at 50, a drop of twenty points; there was a fortune to be made in selling even a few thousand shares short of the market. It was Harding's day, indeed.

Eight o'clock and Indiman and I sat awaiting his coming. The electric bell rang sharply, and Bolder ushered in our protege. He came forward, shook hands, accepted a cigar, and sat down.

"You received my note?" said Indiman.

"Yes."

"What did you do?"

"I bought five thousand Pan. com. at 70."