by telegraph. He reached Cresco in a great hurry. Business matters were pressing and he had no time to waste. He hired a rig and told the owner to drive him over to Canadensis and back in time to catch the next train back to New York.
The owner shook his head.
"Go ahead," said Gould. "I'll pay the damage."
The horse was put to its utmost speed and Gould had just one hour and a half to devote to preparations for his father's funeral. Then he drove back to Cresco and caught his train, but he drove so fast that the horse died from overexertion. Gould made good the value to the owner without complaint.
Pacific Mail was always one of Mr. Gould's speculative favorites. He had been more or less directly identified with it ever since the time when A. B. Stockwell was its picturesque controller. Stockwell is the historic gentleman who, in reciting the story of his Wall street career, has graphically put in this way:
"When I first came to Wall street I had $10,000, and the brokers called me 'Stockwell.' I scooped some profits, and it was 'Mr. Stockwell.' I got to dealing in a thousand shares at a time, and they hailed me as 'Captain Stockwell.' I went heavily into Pacific Mail, and folks lifted their hats to 'Commodore Stockwell.'
"Then one day Jay Gould came along, smash went Pacific Mail and I went with it. They did not call me 'Commodore Stockwell' after that. Then it was: 'The red-headed son of a gun from Ohio.'"
