The Timber Broker.

Progress, Volume XVI, Issue 3, 1 November 1920, Page 61

The Timber Broker.

By H. HUGO.

Some Sidelights in His Methods of Business.

What is a timber broker? We know that a timber merchant is a man who buys timber and sells it again, and that he is usually interested in or owns a sawmill, —in short his business is recognised as legitimate, and we all know of him. But what about the timber broker? Does he buy timber and sell it again? Do we all know him as a regular business trader in timber? Let me relate how I, as a comparatively young business man came to know about the timber broking business. I was sitting in my office one day, when a telegraph messenger arrived. “Is this telegram for you, sir?” said he. I took the telegram and read the address:— W. Brown, Timber Broker, Customs Street, Auckland. “I suppose it is,” I replied. “It has my initials and though I don’t know what is meant by a timber broker, I expect somebody has been careless and intended it for timber merchant. However, I’ll open it and see.” So I opened it and read:— “Please supply 510,000 feet of rimu.” It was signed by H. Jacobs, timber broker, Palmerston North. “Yes,” I said, “ this must be for me.” But who was H. Jacobs, and why does he telegraph to me in Auckland for timber when there are so many nearer mills? We don’t know each other in business, but he must be in a big way to order such a quantity of timber. I therefore, went out to seek information as to who H. Jacobs might be, supposing him to be another timber merchant who had got some big order he could not execute, and was unable to obtain his timber at a nearer centre.

On my return, to my surprise, another telegram —this time from Wanganui—had been delivered to me for 240,000 ft of matai, but bearing a different signature. This time it was C. Scott. Strange, thought I, that two orders of such a size should be delivered to me in one day, and from different towns too. I did not know of C. Scott in business either, and had failed to find out anything about H. Jacobs as a timber merchant or sawmaller in Palmerston North. So i went out again, wondering whether I was dreaming, to seek information regarding C. Scott of Wanganui. On my way I met an old friend of my father in my own line of business, who was very fond of racing—horse racing in particular. He was a good friend of mine too, and as we had carried out frequent deals together, I knew I could trust him. I told him of the two telegrams I had received. He looked at them carefully, and with surprise said: “and you don’t know either of the senders of the telegrams? I told him I did not. “Do you expect any more of them?' said he. “What do you mean?” I rejoined. “How long have you been a timber broker,” said he, laughing. “ You know perfectly well, I have been in tne timber business as a merchant for over three years,” I answered. “But that is not timber broking ,” said he, with a chuckle. I was getting quite annoyed at him. He seemed to be enjoying some joke, quietly, at my expense; so I said, “Sam, you have been my good friend fClover 10 years, will you please explain what you are driving at?” He said with a smile, “You will receive a lot more orders before the day is out, but I can’t explain now, I’m off to the races. Call and see me tonight, and bring with you the other orders you will receive before 3.0 p.m. You won’t get any after that hour.” With that he turned on his heel, and made for a passing tram bound for the course. More orders I am to receive! What on earth does the man mean? Is he playing some joke on me? After lunch I returned to my office, and sure enough there were 14 further orders for varying quantities and kinds of timber. One order was for as much as 650,000 feet of kauri. Think of it, 650,000 feet of kauri. Why, there isn’t that much Kauri in N.Z. at the present time. Surely the Telegraph Department had gone mad. But no, these telegrams were paid for, and had come from different towns. There is something very curious about this. People don’t pay for the upkeep of the Telegraph

Department for amusement. After dinner that evening at about 7.30 p.m. I called on my friend, who greeted me with his annoying smile, which apparently, hadn’t left him since I saw him earlier in the day. “Well, did you get the other telegrams? Have you made your fortune oul of your telegraphed orders?” I managed to stifle my anxiety to hear what he had to tell me long enough to ask him how he had fared at the races. He answered, “ only so-so. Come in and show me your orders.” I gave him the bundle of telegrams, which he began carefully to scrutinize. “Let me see,” said he, sorting out the wires into

separate heaps, “You have here orders for 910,000 feet of matai; 750,000 kauri; 840,000 feet of white pine. Now, supposing the senders are alright, can you execute the orders? They are evidently urgent or they wouldn’t be telegraphed for,” said he, whimsically. The cool way he treated the matter made me wonder whether he really thought they were genuine. If they were, what fortune was mine! I began to think what Williams would say about that little mortgage of mine that he threatened to foreclose on, when I showed him orders for such quantities of timber. My friend, however, cut my reflections short with a curt, “Well, can you?” I said, “No, I could not. There is not that much timber in Auckland.” “Quite so,” said my friend. “Then what do you propose to do?” I was getting angry. I had come round at his special invitation to hear his explanation of the numerous telegrams, and all the satisfaction I could get was a most unhappy feeling that my friend was having a game with me. So I told him plainly, that if he had nothing better to do, and so little consideration for my feelings, I should seek a solution elsewhere. With that, he burst into loud laughter. “ Listen to me,” said he with great vehemence, when he saw my angry flush, “What are you doing with telegrams that don’t belong to you?” I said they were mine, and had my name clearly on them. His reply was, “Yes, they have the name ‘ Brown,’ and your initials, but are you a timber broker?” I replied that I assumed the word ‘broker' was written in error, and that it was intended for merchant.” “Nothing of the kind” said he. “They belong to Billy Samuels, the bookie.” “ Billy Samuels,” said I, “the bookmaker! But he is not a timber merchant?” “No, but he is a timber broke 7 on race days, and those telegrams were for him.’ “ But what!” “ Never mind what you are going to say,” broke in my friend. “I know Billy well. I had some bets with him to-day.” During the luncheon spell he was much puzzled that he hadn’t heard from his pals in Palmerston North, Wanganui and Wellington. He mentioned the names of Jacobs of Palmerston North, and Scott of Wanganui, and said it was most extraordinary that no bets had come from them. “ I believe,” said my friend, quizzing me curiously, “ that you had several orders from these gentlemen, didn’t you?” “Yes,” 1 said, “one wanted 510,000 feet of rimu and the other 240,000 feet of matai. “ Well now,” said he, “ both those gentlemen are timber brokers and usually do a thriving business with Billy Samuels on race days. Their names are not published on signboards above their places of business, but they do a very substantial trade nevertheless, in a back room in a tobac-

conist’s shop.” “ But I do not yet see the connection,” said I. “ Well,” said he, “ suppose the sending of telegrams containing bets or racing tips were illegal. Do you suppose the clever bookies haven’t sufficient brains to hoodwink a few telegraph clerks? Let me tell you a little code these gentlemen use on race days. Suppose there were six events at the races to-day. To

demonstrate my point we will suppose that you and I are bookmakers, you living in Palmerston North and I in Auckland. You want to send me £$ in bets to put in the horse standing first on the race card for the third race; £2 on the fourth horse in the first race, and £IOO on the fourth horse in the fifth race. Now, how would you manage this if telegraphing bets were illegal? I’ll tell you. We take the race card, and call the first race, for the sake of argument, “ rimu.” The second race we agree to call “matai.” The third race “kauri,” etc., etc.

“ But still I don’t see ” “ Wait a minute,” said my friend, “ you will see it all in a moment.” Now we further agree that we send our wires as nearly like genuine telegrams as possible to avoid suspicion. If I want to send you £5, I make the first figure of the telegram a “ 5.” If I want you to put it on the first horse I make my next figure a ‘T,’ if the second horse it would be a “ 2,” and so on. And as we have already arranged that the different races shall be named after some tree in common use for timber, we can now translate the telegram from Mr. H. Jacobs. His wire read, I believe, “ send 510,000 feet of rimu.” The first figure represents the amount of money, viz.; The second figure the horse, viz.; the “ first ” horse in this case (the remaining o’s being mere ciphers to make the telegram look genuine), and the name of the timber “ rimu ” represents the race. So you see H. Jacobs wanted Billy Samuels to put £5 on the first horse (“ Speedwell,” according to my card) that ran in the first race to-day, and you have stopped Billy Samuels from doing so. I can imagine that H. Jacobs will have some explaining to do the men he took the money from, and it may cost him a considerable amount to keep his credit good, as, of course, he must pay out on the winning tickets to save his reputation. Incidentally you have learnt something about a business you had previously no knowledge of.