Reborn in America, I am a legendary short seller on Wall Street.

Chapter 125 Shooting Club (4k views, please vote)
Larry had wanted to shoot for a long time, and he handled his 1889 Baudeo revolver every day, but he never had a chance to fire it. It was a really bad feeling.

With that in mind, Larry simply took two boxes of bullets out of the safe, put them into his newly bought handbag, and then locked the safe.

After getting ready, Larry threw his dirty clothes into the laundry basket by the door and walked out of the apartment building.

At 10:15 a.m., Larry found the most prestigious shooting club in the Back Bay area.

This is a three-story concrete building built on a seaside embankment. The ground floor houses a large bar, along with a billiards room. The second and third floors are the company headquarters of this chain of bars, and the basement is a shooting club.

Larry went down to the basement and found that this shooting club was quite unique.

The underground part of the building is made of concrete, and the basement is also designed to be semi-buried. That is to say, the windows above the walls of the basement are actually still above ground, which allows sunlight to shine in and makes the basement not seem particularly dark.

In addition, the underground shooting club was equipped with electric lights. The oddly shaped lights were neatly arranged on the walls, emitting an orange-red glow that illuminated the dim part of the semi-basement.

This was the second time Larry had seen a building using electric lights in Boston.

The club had an open counter, behind which sat a tall, aloof middle-aged man in a suit vest. Seeing Larry staring intently at the light bulb, he said in a deep voice...

"Edison's latest product, this thing is called an electric light bulb. They say they're going to build a large power plant in Boston next year and then roll out electric lights on a large scale. You see it as novel now, but it will be very common in the future."

Larry paused, turning to look at the stern-faced middle-aged man who had spoken, finding him vaguely familiar. However, remembering that the man was talking to him, he smiled and replied, "I've never seen electric lights anywhere else. Why are they using them here first?"

The tall, aloof middle-aged man's lips twitched slightly as he said helplessly, "Gas lamps aren't safe in an underground shooting range. We initially used a solution of suspended windows with reflectors, then we tried arc lamps, and even a separate gas lamp with ventilation ducts, but none of them were ideal. Fortunately, Edison Company has recently been promoting electric lights, and for the safety of our members, we became pioneers. So far, it seems to be working quite well."

"Is this system expensive?" Larry asked.

"It's not very expensive. It's an experimental line right now, funded by the Edison Electric Light Company. We only need to pay for the electricity. However, the Edison Electric Light Company is currently in talks with other companies about a merger, so we don't know yet whether there will be any charges for the line later," the middle-aged man replied.

Larry took a deep breath. With his memories of his past life, he knew that the world would soon be dominated by electric lights, but he had no idea when they would be so widely promoted.

Furthermore, Larry had never seen the Edison Electric Light Company's name on the price list.

But Edison Electric Light Company is in talks to merge with other companies, which is big news!

Larry suddenly had an idea. He walked over to the middle-aged man at the counter, a warm smile on his face. "Sir, may I join your shooting club?"

The middle-aged man raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I thought you were the son of one of our members… Would you like to join the club? We are a member activity center of the National Rifle Association (NRA), very reputable, and we often organize hunting trips for our members.”

“Yes, sir, that’s exactly what I was expecting.” Larry glanced at the club’s various colorful licenses and NRA memberships on the wall.

"Okay, sure. Our club membership fee is $50 a year, which includes 200 rounds of rifle ammunition and 200 rounds of pistol ammunition. Any additional ammunition will need to be paid for by the member. If you bring your own gun, we will not charge you extra. However, if you want to try out a new gun, you will need to pay a gun usage fee."

As the middle-aged man answered, he took out a form showing all the rights and obligations of a member.

Larry glanced at it, pulled out $50, and decided to join the shooting club.

The middle-aged man was surprised by Larry's generous manner, but he still called over a female secretary to process his membership card and other follow-up procedures.

While waiting for his membership card to be made, Larry struck up a conversation with the man.

It turns out this man's name is Burnham, the club's executive director. He's not very talkative on ordinary topics, but he can talk endlessly about firearms.

Larry's mind was still on electric lights. He thought to himself, "Henry Ford was a former engineer at Edison's Electric Light Company. Why didn't I think of talking to him about popularizing electric lights?"

Thinking about this, Larry suddenly had a flash of inspiration and remembered why Burnham looked so familiar!
Henry Ford went to observe the first car test with Mr. Winthrop. Upon arriving at the small park where the car was being tested, Mr. Winthrop was pulled aside to chat by an acquaintance—Mr. Burnham.

Burnham was also a member of the Science Salon. Those who could participate in the Science Salon were either inventors or investors, and their status was definitely not that of ordinary people.

Larry chatted with Burnham for a while, then suddenly asked, "My father's place should also have an electric lighting system installed, but as you said, the merger of the Edison Electric Light Company hasn't been finalized yet. So who should we contact in the future?"

Burnham smiled and nodded. “You’ve come to the right person. One of our members is one of Mr. Morgan’s partners. Mr. Morgan spearheaded the investment in Edison’s electric light company, and he’s also brokering the merger between Edison’s and Thomson-Houston Electric Company. During our last hunt, that member mentioned the new company’s name is…”

As he spoke, he drew a capital G in the air, then a capital E, and continued, "...it's called General Electric."

Larry blinked repeatedly after hearing what Mr. Burnham had said.

I thought to myself, General Electric...

No... is this the kind of information a regular player like me should be hearing? This kind of information will be considered insider information decades from now, okay?!

But now, people are just talking about it casually?

Mr. Burnham noticed Larry seemed lost in thought and asked curiously, "Sir, what's wrong?"

Larry decided not to hide his confusion and decided to get to the bottom of it.

"But... Mr. Burnham, shouldn't Mr. Morgan keep such important news a secret? Why would he tell his partner?"

Mr. Burnham smiled, rubbing his temples, and asked, "May I ask what business your father is in?"

"He works in the hotel industry!" Larry blurted out.

Burnham nodded, with an expression that seemed to say, and continued,

"Your father's industry is very far removed from financial investment. In fact, Mr. Morgan invests in dozens of similar projects every year. Such merger opportunities may seem hidden, but they are actually well known to everyone on Wall Street."

Larry nodded after listening.

To be honest, after Mr. Burnham explained it that way, I understood it myself.

Angel investing exists these days, but it's not a standard practice. Usually, some big shot thinks a new invention is good and just casually invests some money.

Essentially, Larry and Senator Kennedy were doing the same thing.

Such things are indeed not uncommon in today's era of rapidly evolving technological products. In fact, it was precisely because of the wave of investment in new technological products by bigwigs at the end of the 19th century that the mature angel investment and equity investment system in the United States was created later.

Burnham waved his hand and continued, "Every year, countless new technologies emerge. I heard that Mr. Edison and one of his engineers, Tesla, were arguing about whether direct current or alternating current was the future. As a result, Tesla resigned and went to Westinghouse Electric."

Therefore, the important thing is not whether these opportunities exist, but that God hasn't given us eyes to see into the future. For example, Wall Street investors don't know whether direct current or alternating current will become the mainstream technology for electric lights in the future.

Larry nodded, thinking to himself, "You guys don't have eyes that can see into the future, but I do..."

The conversation soon returned to the topic of firearms and shooting.

Just then, the female secretary finished making the membership card and respectfully handed over the documents and certificates.

Larry took the membership card, glanced at it, and then carefully placed the card and documents into his jacket pocket. He then gave Mr. Burnham another friendly smile. Burnham had a good impression of this pure-smiling young man. He glanced at Larry's jacket and, with professional keenness, noticed the bulge under his armpit.

Did you bring your own gun?

Larry nodded. "Yes, sir. This is a birthday present from my father."

"May I take a look?"

Larry paused, then asked, "Here?"

“No, no, no, come with me to the firing range!” Mr. Burnham stood up and led Larry to the firing range at the back.

On the way from the front desk to the shooting range, Mr. Burnham made sure to show Larry where the members smoked cigars, where the lockers were, where the armory was, and he also listed out how many models of firearms the club had.

Of course, Larry noticed that there were also quite a few armed security guards here.

Upon arriving at the firing range, we were surrounded by high-wattage incandescent lights, and almost every firing lane was packed with people, with the roar of various firearms echoing everywhere.

Mr. Burnham walked to an empty gun bay, put cork earplugs on the two men, and then gestured to Larry that he could take out his gun.

Larry took out his M1889 Bodeo pistol and placed it on the table.

Larry didn't actually know about the etiquette related to firearms in this era, but remembering that he had heard in his previous life that antique shops and jade shops did not allow items to be handled by hand, he simply placed the pistol on the table.

Mr. Burnham nodded, picked up the pistol from the table, his eyes narrowed, and a look of fervent joy immediately flashed in them.

"Oh my God! It's Italian! And from Bodeio. You know what? I love their guns."

Mr. Burnham spoke to Larry in a booming voice that could pierce cork.

As he spoke, he repeatedly examined the gun under the light, sometimes opening the magazine to take out bullets to look at them, sometimes stroking the steel lines on the pistol repeatedly. The look of love for something was impossible to hide.

After looking at it for a while, Burnham smiled and asked, almost ingratiatingly, "Mr. Livingston, may I fire a couple of shots?"

“Go ahead!!” Larry yelled back.

"Great!" Burnham stepped onto the firing rack, put the hammer in place, and the trigger was now ready to fire.

boom! !

The 10.35mm bullet, once fired, produced a sound completely different from that of other guns.

"Fake!! This thing is amazing!! Beautiful!!" Mr. Burnham's face showed an expression of extreme excitement, completely different from his previous conversation, as if a lecher had been thrown into the center of a striptease party...

boom! !

The second shot was fired.

Boom! !
The third and fourth shots were fired...

Mr. Burnham's face contorted with joy.

At the same time, the firing from other gun lanes gradually stopped, and many heads peeked out from behind, curious about what weapon made the unique gunshot sound from that lane.

Mr. Burnham didn't care at all. He fired two shots, emptying all six bullets, before finally removing his headphones with satisfaction and shouting to the staff behind him.
"Slide the target over here, let me see the score!"

Before long, the target paper was brought closer by the machine. Burnham rubbed his head with both hands and exclaimed, "Only five shots on target? I can't be that bad, can I?"

At that moment, someone knocked on the wooden door with glass paneling behind the gun emplacement. A burly man with a full beard asked,

"Can I give it a try?"

Mr. Burnham turned around and recognized the man as someone he knew very well. He quickly waved him into the gun bay and handed him the pistol.

The bearded man picked up the gun and examined it closely. He then smiled and pointed to the magazine cylinder, saying, "There's sand inside, and the chamber isn't fully locked!"

As he spoke, the bearded man dug hard with his little fingernail, removed the tiny grain of sand, and handed the gun to Mr. Burnham.
"Try it again!!"

Burnham quickly turned to Larry and asked, "Sir, do you have any more bullets?"

"Yes!" Larry generously slammed two boxes of 96 bullets from his leather satchel onto the table.

Mr. Burnham and the bearded man both showed expressions of unexpected elation.
"Thank you!! Thank you!! I will pay."

Next, Mr. Burnham and the bearded man took turns firing their pistols, excitedly discussing the advantages and disadvantages of Italian firearms, laughing like two children who never grew up.

The rest of the underground shooting club was empty; people had all gathered around Larry's gun bay to watch Mr. Burnham and the bearded man test their guns...

The two chatted and laughed excitedly as they shot, completely oblivious to the people around them.

Not long after, they had used up all 96 bullets.

"Here you go, kid! You're so lucky, this is a good gun!" The bearded man handed the Bodeo pistol back to Larry, still looking reluctant, and continued, "Remember to get a cloth to clean it when you get back, this treasure needs to be well maintained!!"

"Huh? I didn't!" Larry exclaimed in surprise.

"Then I'll do it!" The bearded man took out gun oil and a soft cloth from the gun cabinet and began to carefully clean the pistol as if he were caressing a woman.

Mr. Burnham rummaged through his wallet, took out $50, and shoved it into Larry's arms.
"Bullet fee! Bro, take it! I had so much fun today."

At the time, a regular American bullet cost only 5 cents, and Larry thought to himself, "You're giving me way too much."

But Larry couldn't refuse Burnham's heartfelt offer, so he accepted the money, thinking to himself, "Am I getting my membership fee back now?"

Larry glanced at the bearded man still diligently cleaning his gun and asked with a smile, "This gentleman seems to know a lot about guns! He's an expert."

Mr. Burnham raised his eyebrows, patted the bearded man on the shoulder, and said proudly, "John Moses Browning, he's a genius gun designer!"

(John Browning)

What?! Browning?!

Larry was taken aback, looked seriously at the bearded man, and thought to himself, "This surname is really GUN!"
(End of this chapter)