Lions and Lace Read Online Free PDF

detail how he had fared in the Comstock Lode and if his investments in the Marine Bank would prove astute. True, most wouldn't invite Trevor Sheridan to dinner, nor would they expect their wives to associate with his family. Yet for a tip on the exchange, all would gladly have shared their mistresses with him, and perhaps, if the financial reward were worth it, they might have even lowered themselves to laugh over one of his crude Irish jokes.
    Today the Knickerbockers were willing to laugh. Tomorrow they would not be.
    Appearing unconcerned with the speculation around him, the Predator sat in the corner of the dining room eating, of all things, corned beef and cabbage, with his younger brother. Every now and again a gentleman would look up from his table and glance at Sheridan, then, seeing no profitable activity, return to his meal. This continued through Sheridan's enjoyment of a large glass of the club's best brandy (upon Eagan's insistence) chased with a pot of strong coffee.
    The atmosphere in the dining room was sizzling. Everyone, of course, knew about Sheridan's sister's failed debut, but that was quickly overshadowed by the fact that it was Tuesday. And Tuesday was the day that the Predator bought.
    James Fitzsimmons entered the room, and all eyes fell upon him. He was Sheridan's workhorse. One could set one's watch by James Fitzsimmons. Every Tuesday afternoon at precisely two o'clock he entered the club's dining room and walked to the Predator's table. There the Predator would write out his order on a napkin, and James Fitzsimmons would then leave for the exchange, the napkin in his hand coveted by everyone in the room.
    The Predator wrote, and eyes followed his hand as if they might decipher the movements and reveal those hallowed words: silver bullion, Western Union, Chesapeake Railroad. Whatever it was, the Predator was almost assured of making a fortune, and those lucky enough to be holding on to his coat tails would profit beyond their wildest imaginings.
    Sheridan finished his order with a flourish and handed it to Fitzsimmons. Fitzsimmons bowed and turned on his heels.
    Then the unthinkable happened.
    Some thought Lady Luck had just landed sweetly in their laps when they saw that napkin slip from Fitzsimmon's hand. The linen square fluttered to the ground, the scribblings in black ink available to anyone within sight of it. There was one huge intake of breath as they strained to read each line. Then Fitzsimmons retrieved it. He shoved it in his pocket as if the entire incident had never occurred. At the far end of the dining room the Predator hardly lifted his head. To all appearances, he hadn't even seen Fitzsimmons drop the thing. Men suddenly began rubbing their hands.
    One by one, they left the dining room, each with a different excuse, each with the same destination and the same name on his mind: Jubilee Patent Laces.
    Eagan, of course, had seen the napkin drop. He paled and almost jumped from his seat. If not for his brother's discreet hand on his arm, he would have sprinted across the room and taken the napkin back. Eagan looked down at his brother's hand and said, "Trevor, they've seen the bid. We've got to tell Fitz not to put the order through."
    "Wait," was all Sheridan offered.
    More men cleared the room. Soon the only ones in the dining room were the Chinese busboy and old Cyrus Field, too blind and deaf to notice anything around him but the strip of beef on his plate that his manservant sawed into gummable scraps.
    "Jesus, Trevor, what the hell are you doing? That stock'll be worthless if you and the rest of this room buy it," Eagan whispered.
    "It's Jubilee Patent Laces."
    Eagan looked as if he'd just been slapped in the face. "That's not worth the paper it's printed on. Everyone knows that. Jubilee's going into receivership any day. Are you out of your mind?"
    Sheridan stood as if he hadn't heard him. "What do you think, Eagan, if we give Fitz the day off tomorrow? He's done well for us