Picture Play Magazine (Mar-Aug 1916)

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102 Friday, the Thirteenth He had "plunged" — and lost. how deep you are in the financial pool. I have watched you for several weeks, though you wouldn't tell your little daughter anything about it. You have been — like a lot of these no-accounts in the barber-shop stock exchange — drunk on figures. I put a few questions here and there, and I've followed the market, and I know the whole story. Oh, it's nothing to be ashamed of, daddy. I know you meant well. But you were taking a whole heap of risk by not consulting me. Now, for instance, if I had known that you had plunged on a tip from Peter Brownley, of New York — as I know now you did plunge — I should have said: 'Pull out, or you'll get stung !' " ''It's too late now, Beulah," he said bitterly. "I deny it," she retorted promptly. "It's never too late till the preacher says : 'Dust to dust.' Here's my propo sition, dad: We'll become a pair of conspirators; our object, the downfall of Brownley and the restoration of our fortunes. I'll be the principal actor. You'll watch the game from down here in Virginia, while I am taking the war into the enemy's camp in New York. Then, when the big moment arrives, I'll wire you, and you can come in at the death. Daddy, my scheme is to get into touch with Brownley, maybe get a job in his office — you know I'm something of a typist " "I don't see how " he was beginning ; but she stopped him : "Now, no objections, dad! You think I'll have trouble getting a footing in the big city. Pouf , suh ! You don't know your daughter ! They tell me that good looks go a long way there, and can you sit there and tell me that Miss Beulah Sands is deficient in that respect ?"