Middle school students make money on the Internet to earn 50

Middle school students make money on the Internet to earn 50

He replied that there was none; and, as he rode up in the subway, he thought the problem over, and made up his own mind. He had a trifle over sixty thousand dollars in Prentice's institution—more than half of all he owned. He had Prentice's word for it that the Company was in a sound condition, and he believed it. He made up his mind that he would not be one of those to be stampeded, whatever might happen.

He dined quietly at home with his mother; then he took his way up town again to Lucy's apartment; for he was haunted by the thought of her, and could not rest. He had read in the late evening papers that Stanley Ryder had resigned from the Gotham Trust Company.

“Is Mrs. Taylor in?” he asked, and gave his name.

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“Mrs. Taylor says will you please to wait, sir,” was the reply. And Montague sat down in the reception-room. A couple of minutes later, the hall-boy brought him a note.

He opened it and read these words, in a trembling hand:—

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“Dear Allan: It is good of you to try to help me, but I cannot bear it. Please go away. I do not want you to think about me. Lucy.”

Montague could read the agony between those lines; but there was nothing he could do about it. He went over to Broadway, and started to walk down town.

He felt that he must have someone to talk to, to take his mind off these things. He thought of the Major, and went over to the club, but the storm had routed out even the Major, it appeared. He was just off to attend some conference, and had only time to shake hands with Montague, and tell him to “trim sail.”

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Then he thought of Bates, and went down to the office of the Express. He found Bates hard at work, seated at a table in his shirt-sleeves, and with stacks of papers around him.

“I can always spare time for a chat,” he said, as Montague offered to go.

“I see you came back,” observed the other.

“I'm like an old horse in a tread mill,” answered Bates. “What else is there for me to do?”

He leaned back in his chair, and put his thumbs in his armholes. “Well,” he remarked, “they made their killing.”

“They did, indeed,” said Montague.

“And they're not satisfied yet,” exclaimed the other. “They're on another trail!”