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expect to make money on the Stock Exchange, he said.’
Philip bought an evening paper on his way home and
turned at once to the money columns. He knew nothing
about these things and had difficulty in finding the stock
which Macalister had spoken of. He saw they had advanced
a quarter. His heart leaped, and then he felt sick with appre-
hension in case Macalister had forgotten or for some reason
had not bought. Macalister had promised to telegraph. Phil-
ip could not wait to take a tram home. He jumped into a cab.
It was an unwonted extravagance.
‘Is there a telegram for me?’ he said, as he burst in.
‘No,’ said Mildred.
His face fell, and in bitter disappointment he sank heav-
ily into a chair.
‘Then he didn’t buy them for me after all. Curse him,’ he
added violently. ‘What cruel luck! And I’ve been thinking
all day of what I’d do with the money.’
‘Why, what were you going to do?’ she asked.
‘What’s the good of thinking about that now? Oh, I want-
ed the money so badly.’
She gave a laugh and handed him a telegram.
‘I was only having a joke with you. I opened it.’
He tore it out of her hands. Macalister had bought him
two hundred and fifty shares and sold them at the half-
crown profit he had suggested. The commission note was
to follow next day. For one moment Philip was furious with
Mildred for her cruel jest, but then he could only think of
his joy.
‘It makes such a difference to me,’ he cried. ‘I’ll stand you