Friday, the Thirteenth: A Novel
By Lawson, Thomas William
Classic work by Lawson, Thomas William.
Table of Contents
“Friday, the 13th; I thought as much. If Bob has started, there will be hell, but I will see what I can do.” The sound of my voice, as I dropped the receiver, seemed to part the m...
The following week saw Miss Sands, of Virginia, private secretary to the head of Randolph & Randolph, established in a little office between mine and Bob’s. She had not been there ...
He Listened a moment, then answered, “Stand on it at 80 for 12,000 shares. I will be there in a second.” He dropped the receiver. “Jim, we have struck a snag. Arthur Perkins, whom ...
The following week Bob returned to the office. He had not changed, and yet he had changed greatly. Rest had apparently done much for him. His colour was good, his step elastic as o...
Thursday, November 12th, was a memorable day in Wall Street. As the gong pealed its the-game’s-closed-till-another-day, the myriad of tortured souls that are supposed to haunt the ...
As I passed through my office a few minutes later I heard Bob’s voice in Beulah Sands’s office. It was raised in passionate eloquence. “Yes, Beulah, I have done it single-handed. ...
An old gambler, whose life had been spent listening to the rattle of the drop-in-bound-out little roulette ball, was told by a fellow victim, as his last dollar went to the relentl...
A number of times during the following year, and finally on the anniversary of the Sands tragedy, Bob carried the Exchange to the verge of panic, only to turn the market and save “...
The Governing Committee was holding a meeting in its room. Bob rushed in unceremoniously. “One word, gentlemen,” he called. “I have more trades outstanding, both buys and sells, t...
The instant after the gong sounded Bob Brownley was alone on the floor at the foot of the president’s desk. His form was swaying like a reed on the edge of the cyclone’s path. I ju...