The other terminal hotel projects had been kept very quiet, indeed, lest the jealous promoters of similar enterprises might be whetted into greediness; but no such modesty seemed to attend the plans of the Terminal Hotel Company; in fact, it seemed to court publicity—and, since Johnny Gamble was known and liked by a host of newspaper men, it received plenty of attention. After the ball game Johnny rode down to Mr. Courtney's club with him to dinner; and when he was through talking to Courtney he immediately called on his newspaper friends.
When Loring arrived at the office in the morning he found Johnny immersed in a pile of papers—and gloating.
"Say, Johnny, I want you to give me power of attorney to wind up the Gamble-Collaton Irrigation Company," was Loring's morning greeting.
"Go as far as you like," Johnny told him without looking up from a glowing account of the magnificent new hostelry.
"Good for you!" approved Loring. "I'd expected to have half an hour's wrestle with you—and I couldn't afford it, for this is my busy day. I want you to understand this, Johnny: If I take that old partnership off your hands you're to ask no questions."
"Go twice as far as you like," offered Johnny indifferently. "I've forgotten there ever was a Gamble-Collaton Irrigation Company. Listen to this, Loring: 'Surmounting the twentieth story of the magnificent new structure there will be a combined roof garden, cafe and theater, running continuous vaudeville—'"
"This agreement, entered into this twenty-fifth day of April," began the discordantly hurried voice of Loring. He was dictating to his stenographer a much more comprehensive agreement than a mere power of attorney; and as soon, as it was ready Johnny signed it without a question.
"Get this, Ashley?" he remarked, handing back Loring's pen and reading gleefully from another paper: "'A subway entrance into the new terminal station is being negotiated—'"
"All right," said Loring, putting on his hat. "Good-by!"—and he was gone.
If Loring professed but slight interest in the flamboyant plans for the new hotel, there were others who were painfully absorbed in the news of the project. Gresham, for one, read the account with contracted brows at his late breakfast; and at noon, inspired by a virtuous sense of duty, he sauntered over to Courtney's club.
"I see you're involved in another hotel proposition," he ventured.
"I hope involved is not the word," returned Courtney with rather a wry smile.
"Is your company fully organized?" asked Gresham with a trace of more than polite interest.
"I think not," answered Courtney. "I'm not in a position to state, however, as the matter is out of my hands. I am taking some stock in it, of course; but I have nothing to do with the organization of the company, since I have sold the ground to Mr. Gamble."
"Gamble?" repeated Gresham. "Oh, is that so?"
His tone was so deprecative that Courtney was sharply awakened by it.
"Do you know anything against Gamble?" he quite naturally inquired.
"Not a thing," Gresham hastily assured him. "Anyhow, you have sold him the property and are fully secured?"
"I've sold it to him under contract," replied Courtney, ready, in view of his recent experiences, to become panic-stricken at a moment's notice.
"Of course, if anything happens you can reclaim the property," Gresham considered. "It forms its own security; but still, any one holding a private claim against Gamble might try to attach it and give you a nasty entanglement."
"There doesn't seem to be any danger of that," argued Courtney, looking worried, nevertheless. "He was able to show me an extremely clean bill of health. The only drawback I could find in his record was the payment of some debts which were not rightly his and which he might have evaded."
"Did he refer you to the Fourth National Bank?" inquired Gresham quietly.
"No. Say, Gresham, what have you up your sleeve? Gamble paid me fifteen thousand dollars this morning, as per agreement. I would scarcely think he would risk that much money on a bluff."
"He paid you the fifteen thousand, then?" said Gresham with a smile. "Mr. Courtney, one does not like to mix in these affairs; but you and my father were friends and, though I regret to do so, I feel it my duty to advise you to call up the Fourth National Bank."
"Thanks!" gratefully acknowledged Courtney, and hurried down to the telephone booth. He came back in a few moments, and his manner was distinctly cool. "I 'phoned to Mr. Close," he stated. "He tells me that an attachment was laid against Mr. Gamble's account at his bank yesterday for fifteen thousand dollars, and was returned to the server marked 'no funds'; but that this morning the executor of Mr. Gamble's interests in the Gamble-Collaton Irrigation Company deposited fifteen thousand dollars for the specific purpose of meeting this attachment. Mr. Close informs me that, though he could not, of course, guarantee Mr. Gamble's solvency, he would take Mr. Gamble's unsupported word on any proposition. I have known Joe Close for years, and I never knew him to be so enthusiastic about any man who possessed no negotiable securities. I thank you for your well-intentioned interference in my behalf, Mr. Gresham, but I think I shall cling to Mr. Gamble nevertheless."
"I certainly should if I were in your place," Gresham hastily assured him with such heartiness as he could assume. "I am delighted to learn that the rumor I heard of Mr. Gamble's insolvency is unfounded."
"By the way, where did you hear the rumor?" inquired Courtney with a frown.
"Really, I've forgotten," Gresham confessed.
"One should not forget such things if one repeats such rumors," Courtney reproved him.
Gresham went away both puzzled and annoyed. It was three o'clock before he found Collaton; and that featureless young man, whose lack of visible eyebrows and lashes was a constant annoyance to the fastidious Gresham, was in a high state of elation.
"Well, we get back your fifteen thousand," he exulted after they were safely in Gresham's apartments. "Of course Jacobs gets five thousand for engineering the deal, but that gives us five thousand apiece. Jacobs was told—about eleven o'clock—that the money was there."
"Keep my share; but why didn't you send me word?" snarled Gresham. "I nearly put my foot in it by having a man with whom Gamble is doing business inquire about him at the Fourth National. In place of injuring his credit, we've strengthened it."
"Good work!" approved Collaton. "I hope he makes all kinds of money."
"I don't!" snapped Gresham. "Did you read the papers this morning?"
"I read the racing and base-ball returns."
"There was more to interest you in the news. Gamble has a big hotel proposition on—and I want it stopped. Can you get another attachment against him for about fifty thousand dollars?"
"It's risky!" And Collaton looked about him furtively. "It's easy enough to fake an old note for money—"
"You must not say 'fake' to me. I will not countenance any crooked business."
"To dig up an old note for money I am supposed to have borrowed and spent—"
"Not supposed."
"For money I borrowed and spent on the work out there—and have a quiet suit entered by one of my pet assassins in Fliegel's court, have the summons served and confess judgment. Johnny is sucker enough to confess judgment, too, rather than repudiate a debt which he can not prove he does not owe; but I've already milked that scheme so dry that I'm afraid of it."
"You're afraid of everything," Gresham charged him with the scorn one coward feels for another. "Your operations out there were spread over ten thousand acres of ground; and it would take a dozen experts six months, without any books or papers to guide them, to make even an approximate estimate of your legitimate expenditures."
"I don't know," hesitated Collaton with a shake of his head—"I only touched the high places in the actual work out there. I believe I was a sucker at that, Gresham. If I had buckled down to it, like Gamble does, we could have made a fortune out of that scheme. He's a wonder!"
"He has wonderful luck," corrected Gresham. "I tried my best to scare Courtney away from him with that attachment, but he insisted on clinging to his Johnny Gamble; so we'll hand him enough of Johnny by laying a fifty-thousand-dollar attachment against his property."
"You're a funny cuss," said Collaton, puzzled. "If you wanted to soak him for this fifty thousand why did you try to scare Courtney off?"
"Can't you understand that I'm not after the money?" demanded Gresham. "I've explained that to you before. I want Gamble broke, discredited, and so involved that he can never transact any business in New York."
"What's he done to you?" inquired Collaton. "He must be winning a stand-in with your girl."
"My private affairs are none of your concern!" Gresham indignantly flared.
"All right, governor," assented Collaton a trifle sullenly. "I'll fake that note for you to-night; and—"
"I told you I would not have anything to do with any crooked work," Gresham sharply reprimanded him.
"Oh, shut up!" growled Collaton. "You give me the cramps. You're a worse crook than I am!"
On Wednesday morning Mr. Courtney, sitting as rigidly at his desk as if he were in church, was handed the card of Morton Washer. He laid the card face down and placed a paper-weight on it, as if he feared it might get away. He turned a callous eye on his secretary and, in his driest and most husky tones, directed: "Tell Mr. Washer I will see him in five minutes."
During that five minutes Mr. Courtney signed letters as solemnly as a judge pronouncing a death sentence. At last he paused and looked at himself for a solid half-minute in the bookcase mirror across from his desk. Apparently he was as mournful as an undertaker, but at the end of the inspection his mouth suddenly stretched in a wide grin, which bristled the silver-white beard upon his cheeks; his eyes screwed themselves up into knots of jovial wrinkles and he winked—actually winked—at his reflection in the glass! Thereupon he straightened his face and sent for Morton Washer.
Mr. Washer, proprietor of two of the largest hotels in New York, and half a dozen enormous winter and summer places, looked no more like a boniface than he did like a little girl on communion Sunday. He was a small, wispy, waspish fellow with a violently upright, raging pompadour, a mustache which, in spite of careful attempts at waxing, persisted in sticking straight forward, and a sharp hard nose which had apparently been tempered to a delicate purple.
"Hear you've revived your hotel project," he said to Mr. Courtney.
"No," denied Courtney. "Sold the property."
"I know," agreed Mr. Washer with absolute disbelief. "What'll you take for it?"
"I told you it was sold. Here's the contract." And, with great satisfaction, Courtney passed over the document.
"Two million six hundred and fifty!" snorted Washer. "That's half a million more than it's worth."
"You told my friends you intended to buy the railroad plot at three and a half," Courtney gladly reminded him.
"It's four hundred feet deep."
"You said you only wanted two hundred feet square, which is the size of this plot—and this is an equally good location."
"I know," admitted Washer, contemptuous of all such trifles. "What will you take for the property—spot cash?"
"It's sold, I tell you. If you want to buy it see Mr. Gamble."
"Who's Gamble?"
"The man who is organizing the Terminal Hotel Company."
"How much stock has he subscribed?"
"You will have to see Mr. Gamble about that."
"Did you take any?"
"Half a million."
"Humph! You could afford to. Now give me the straight of it, Courtney: Is it any use to talk to you?"
"Not a bit. You'll—"
"I know. I'll have to see Mr. Gamble! Well, where do I find him?"
Mr. Courtney kindly wrote the address on a slip of paper. Mr. Washer looked at it with a grunt, stuffed it in his waistcoat pocket and slammed out of the door. Mr. Courtney winked at himself in the glass. Old Mort Washer would try to take advantage of him, to the extent of an eighth of a million dollars, would he! Make his old friend Courtney take an eighth of a million less than he paid, eh? Mr. Courtney whistled a merry little tune.
Fifteen minutes later, Old Mort Washer bounced into Loring's office.
"Mr. Gamble?" he popped out.
Both gentlemen turned to him, but Loring turned away.
"I'm Gamble," stated that individual.
"I'm Morton Washer."
Since Mr. Gamble was aware of that fact and was expecting this visit, he betrayed no surprise.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Washer?" he inquired.
"Are you taking bona fide subscriptions to your Terminal Hotel Company?"
"No other kind interests me."
"How nearly is your company filled?"
"Why do you want to know? Do you figure on taking some stock?"
"No."
"What do you want?"
"Your price on the property. Will you sell it?"
"Of course I will—at a profit."
"How much?"
"Two million seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars."
"Keep it!" snapped Washer, and started for the door.
"Much obliged," returned Johnny cheerfully, and returned to his combination daybook, journal, ledger and diary. "Ashley, I put in four hours' overtime, Monday. Do I enter that on the debit or credit side?"
Loring stifled a snicker.
"I think I'd open a separate account for that," he solemnly advised.
"I say," renewed Washer, returning one pace, "who are some of your prospective stockholders?"
"Close, of the Fourth National, is one; Mr. Courtney is another; Colonel Bouncer is another. I have more."
"Thanks!" snapped Washer. "I'll give you two and a half millions for that property."
"I'd rather finance the Terminal Hotel. Let me show you a perspective sketch of it, Mr. Washer," and he opened the drawer of his desk.
"You'll have to excuse me," blurted Mr. Washer. "Good day!" and he was gone.
"I didn't know you had Close," commented Loring in surprise. "How did you hypnotize him?"
"Showed him a profit. Mr. Courtney told me last night that Close boosted me yesterday, so I sold him some stock this morning. Say, Loring, how did you square that fifteen thousand attachment?"
"None of your business," said Loring.
Mr. Washer rushed in to see Mr. Close.
"I see you've subscribed for stock in the Terminal Hotel Company," he observed. "To accommodate a client?"
"No, because I thought it would be a good investment," Mr. Close informed him, turning up the edge of a piece of paper and creasing it as carefully as if it had been money. "Of course I would not care to have my action influence others."
"Do you think Gamble can fully organize such a company?"
"I think so," stated Mr. Close. "Understand, I do not recommend the investment; and my stock is subscribed only on condition that he obtains his full quota of capital."
"What sort of a man is he?"
"A very reliable young man, I believe," responded Mr. Close, carefully testing an ink-eaten steel pen point to see if it was really time for it to be thrown away. "Of course I could not state Mr. Gamble to be financially responsible, but personally I would trust him. I would not urge or even recommend any one to take part in his projects; but personally I feel quite safe in investing with him, though I would not care to have that fact generally known, because of the influence it might have. Perhaps you had better see some of the other subscribers."
"No, I've seen enough," announced Mr. Washer. "Thanks!" and he dashed out of the door.
Ten minutes later he was in Loring's office again.
"Now, name your bottom price for that property," he ordered.
"Two million seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars," obliged Johnny with careful emphasis on each word.
"It's too much money."
"Don't buy it, then," advised Johnny, smiling quite cheerfully.
"Come on; let's close it up," offered Washer resignedly. "I might have to pay more if I waited."
"All right," said Johnny. "It's a bargain, then?"
"It's a bargain—confound it!" agreed Mr. Washer quite affably, now that the struggle was over. "Where do we go?"
"To Mallard Tyne, the six original owners and myself will all take a piece of your two and three-quarter millions."
"I ought to take a body-guard," grinned Washer; "but I'll chance it. Come on."
While the foregoing was in progress Constance Joy was entertaining Paul Gresham, who had the effrontery to drop in for lunch. Of course the conversation turned to Johnny Gamble. Neither of them could avoid it. They had reached the point where Gresham was angry and Constance was enjoying herself.
"I have great faith in him," she was saying. "He has a wonderful project under way just now."
"And he doesn't care who suffers by it," charged Gresham, furious that she should be so well-informed. "You'll see that he'll involve Courtney's property with some of his old debts."
Constance's eyes widened.
"Do you think so?" she inquired as quietly as possible.
"Of course he will. His creditors are certain to take advantage of this immediately. I warned Courtney."
She hastily arose and went into the hall.
"Oh, Aunt Pattie!" she called up the stairs. "Mr. Gresham is here." Then to Gresham: "You'll excuse me for a little while, won't you? Aunt Pattie is coming down."
Five minutes after Johnny and Mr. Washer had gone, Constance Joy came into Johnny's office with carefully concealed timidity. Her manner was coldly gracious and self-possessed, and her toilet was perfect; but she carried one ripped glove.
"Is Mr. Loring in?" she asked with perfect assurance and also with suddenly accelerated dignity; for the stenographer was really quite neat-looking—not pretty, you know, but neat.
"He has just gone out," replied the stenographer with tremendous sweetness. Anybody could look pretty in expensive clothes like Constance Joy's.
There was a moment's hesitation.
"Is Mr. Gamble in?"
The girl smiled quite brightly.
"Mr. Gamble has just gone out," she stated, and smiled again. She was not at all pretty when she smiled—not by any means—neat, though.
"Could you tell me where I would be likely to find Mr. Loring?" asked Constance stiffly.
"Haven't the slightest idea," answered the girl happily, and gave her hair a touch. Ah! there was a rip under her sleeve!
"Do you know where Mr. Gamble has gone?" and Constance was suddenly pleasant through and through.
"Mr. Gamble?" repeated the girl, wondering at the sudden sweetness and suspicious of it. "Oh, Mr. Gamble has gone over to the office of Mallard back in a few minutes. He's in and out a great deal, but he seldom stays out of the office long at a time."
"Thank you," said Constance hastily, reflecting that there was a public telephone booth in the drug store on the corner, so she need not inquire the address of Mallard & Tyne.
Mr. Gamble, Mr. Courtney, and Mr. Washer were in Mr. Mallard's private office, with that acutely earnest real estate gentleman, when a boy came in to advise Mr. Gamble that he was wanted on the telephone. Johnny Gamble had never heard the voice of Constance over a thin wire, but he recognized it in an instant; and he hitched his chair six inches closer to the instrument. He gave her a fool greeting, which he tried to remember afterward so that he could be confused about it; but Constance wasted no time in preliminaries.
"Have you any property which could be attached?" she wanted to know.
"Just at the present minute I have," he admitted. "I shall have a nominal title in a big building plot, for a day or two—or until the necessary papers can be signed."
"You mustn't wait!" she hastily ordered him. "You must get rid of it right this minute."
"I'll burn it up if you don't like it," he heartily promised her. "What's the matter with it?"
"It isn't safe for you to have it an instant. I've wasted so much time trying to find Polly or Loring, so that they could warn you, that I haven't time to explain. Just get rid of it immediately—can't you?"
"I can do anything you say," he earnestly informed her, hitching his chair closer. There was only an inch left, but he took that. "You'll explain to me to-night what all this is about, won't you?"
"You may come, but you mustn't ask questions."
"I'll be there as soon as I'm through here," he promptly informed her.
"Not so early," she protested, panic-stricken, "I have a caller just now. You must hurry, Mr. Gamble."
"Yes, I will," and he tried to hitch his chair closer. "You're telephoning from the house, then?"
"No-o-o-o!" and he thought he detected a stifled snicker. "I left him with Aunt Pattie and slipped out for a minute."
Him! Him, eh? And she had slipped out to telephone her friend, Johnny, the bit of hot information!
He covered the transmitter with his hand to turn aside and smile. This was a pleasant world after all!
"Many, many thanks!" he jubilated. "I think I'll arrange a little dinner of jollification to-night and hand you the official score. I'll have the colonel, and Mr. Courtney, and Polly, and—"
"You may call me up and tell me about it as soon as you get that property off your hands," she interrupted him.
"All right," he reluctantly agreed. "You'll come to the dinner, won't you?"
"Well, I have a partial engagement," she hesitated.
"Then you'll come," he exultantly knew.
"Maybe," she replied. "Hurry!"
He declared that he would—but he was talking into a dead telephone.
"I guess I'll hurry," he decided, and stalked into Mallard's room. "Look here, fellows. Can't we cut this thing short?" he suggested. "There's no use in Mr. Courtney's completing his purchase from Mallard & Tyne, or me mine from Mr. Courtney, or Mr. Washer his from me. All that poppy-cock is just to conceal out profits. What Mr. Washer wants is the ground; and Courtney and I want half a million dollars, besides the eighth of a million that Mr. Courtney had already invested. Mr. Washer, give Courtney your check for five-eighths of a million—and both Courtney and I will tear up our contracts and give you the pieces. Then you settle with Mallard & Tyne for two and an eighth millions."
"Look here, Courtney, is this a put-up job between you and Gamble?" demanded Washer.
"No," returned Courtney, with that rarely seen smile of his, "it's only the finish of that job you put up on me when you persuaded my friends to drop out of my hotel company."
Washer looked petulant. Johnny Gamble patted him on the shoulder.
"Cheer up," he said—"but hurry. If you don't hurry I'll sell you some stock in my Terminal Hotel Company."
"Give me some papers to sign," ordered Washer, producing his check-book.
Gresham met the colonel and Courtney on Broadway in full regalia just as they were turning in at the newest big cafe to dine that night.
"I'm sorry to tell you, Mr. Courtney, that my warning of this noon was not unfounded," he remarked. "Perhaps, however, you already know it."
"No, I don't," returned Courtney, eying the correctly dressed Gresham with some dissatisfaction. "I'm not even sure of what you mean."
"About a certain man with whom you are doing business."
"Oh—Gamble?"
"What's the matter with Gamble?" bristled the colonel.
"Why, Gresham hinted to me this morning that Gamble had financial obligations he could not meet," explained Courtney. "It seems that he met them, however."
"Of course he did!" snorted the colonel.
"I hadn't intended to make the matter public property," stated Gresham with an uncomfortable feeling that he was combating an unassailable and unaccountable prejudice.
"Bless my soul, you're succeeding mighty well!" blurted the colonel. "Now, tell us all you know about my friend Gamble. Out with it!"
"I beg you to understand, Mr. Courtney, that I am inspired by a purely friendly interest," insisted Gresham with very stiff dignity. "I thought it might be of value for you to know—if you were not already informed—that an attachment for fifty thousand dollars upon Mr. Gamble was laid against your Terminal Hotel property this afternoon."
Mr. Courtney paused to consider.
"At what time was this attachment issued?"
"At three-thirty, I was informed."
Mr. Courtney's reception of that important bit of news was rather unusual, in consideration of its gravity. He threw back his head and laughed; he turned to the colonel and, putting his hand upon his old friend's shoulder, laughed again; he put his other hand upon Gresham's shoulder and laughed more. The colonel was a slower thinker. He looked painfully puzzled for a moment—then suddenly it dawned upon him, and he laughed uproariously; he punched his old friend Courtney in the ribs and laughed more uproariously; he punched Gresham in the ribs and laughed most uproariously.
"Why, bless my heart, boy!" he explained for Courtney. "At two-thirty, neither Courtney nor Johnny Gamble owned a penny's worth of interest in the Terminal Hotel site, if that's the property you mean—and of course you do."
"No," laughed Courtney. "At that hour we sold it outright to Morton Washer for a cool half-million profit, which my friend Johnny and I divide equally. I saw him make the entry in his book. He has twenty-four hours in which to loaf on that remarkable schedule of his. Johnny Gamble is a wonderful young man!"
"Who's that's such a wonderful young man?" snapped a jerky little voice. "Johnny Gamble? You bet he is! He skinned me!"
Turning, Courtney grasped the hands of lean little Morton Washer and of wiry-faced Joe Close.
"We're all here now except the youngsters and the ladies," said Courtney. "Possibly they're inside. Coming in, Gresham?"
"No, I think not," announced Gresham, sickly. "Who's giving the party?"
"Johnny Gamble," snapped Washer. "It's in honor of me!"
A limousine drove up just then. In it were sweet-faced Mrs. Parsons—Polly's mother by adoption—Polly, Loring and Sammy Chirp, the latter gentleman being laden with the wraps of everybody but Loring.
Just behind the limousine was a taxi. In it were Aunt Pattie Boyden, Constance Joy and Johnny Gamble. Gresham, who had held a partial engagement for the evening, went to his club instead.
Johnny, whose sources of information were many and varied, called on a certain Miss Purry the very next morning, taking along Val Russel to introduce him.
"Any friend of Mr. Russel's is welcome, I am sure," declared Miss Purry, passing a clammy wedge of a hand to Johnny, who felt the chill in his palm creeping down his spine. "Of the Maryland Gambles?"
"No, White Roads," replied Johnny cheerfully. Miss Purry's chiseled smile remained, but it was not the same. "I came to see you about that vacant building site, just beyond the adjoining property."
Miss Purry shook her head,
"I'm afraid I could not even consider selling it without a very specific knowledge of its future." And her pale green eyes took on a slightly deeper hue.
Val Russel stifled a sly grin.
"This was once a very aristocratic neighborhood," he informed Johnny with well-assumed sorrow. "Miss Purry is the last of the fine old families to keep alive the traditions of the district. Except for her influence, the new-rich have vulgarized the entire locality."
"Thank you," cooed Miss Purry. "I could not have said that myself, but I can't hinder Mr. Russel from saying it. Nearly all of my neighbors tried to buy the riverview plot, about which you have come to see me; but I did not care to sell—to them."
Her emphasis on the last two words was almost imperceptible, but it was there; and her reminiscent satisfaction was so complete that Johnny, who had known few women, was perplexed.
"If all the old families had been as careful the Bend would not have deteriorated," Val stated maliciously, knowing just how to encourage her. "However, the new-comers are benefited by Miss Purry's resolve—particularly Mrs. Slosher. The Sloshers are just on the other side of the drive from the vacant property, and they have almost as good a river view as if they had been able to purchase it and build upon it in the first place."
The green of Miss Purry's eyes deepened another tone.
"Mr. Slosher, who is now in Europe, was almost brutal in his determination to purchase the property," she stated with painful repression. "The present Mrs. Slosher is a pretty doll, and he is childishly infatuated with her; but his millions can not buy everything she demands."
Ignorant of social interplay as Johnny Gamble was, he somehow divined that William G. Slosher's doll was the neighborhood reason for everything.
"If you were only certain of what you intend to build there—" she suggested, to break the helpless silence.
"I have an apartment-house in mind," he told her.
"That would be very large and very high, no doubt," she guessed, looking pleased.
"It's the only kind that would pay," Johnny Gamble hastily assured her. "It would be expensive—no suite less than three thousand a year and nobody allowed to do anything."
"I'll consider the matter," she said musingly.
"What about the price?" asked Johnny, whose mind had been fixed upon that important detail.
"Oh, yes—the price," agreed Miss Purry indifferently; "I've been holding it at two hundred thousand. I shall continue to hold it at that figure."
"Then that's the price," decided Johnny. "Can't we come to an agreement now?"
"To-morrow afternoon at three," she dryly insisted.
He saw that she meant to-morrow afternoon at three.
"Can't I arrange with you for a twenty-four-hour option?" he begged, becoming anxious.
"I shall not bind myself in any way," she declared. "To-morrow afternoon at three."
"That's a beautiful piece of property," commented Johnny as they drove by. "By George, the apartment-house will shut those people off from the river!"
"That's the only reason she'd be willing to sell," replied Val. "What set you hunting up this property?"
"The De Luxe Apartments Company intends confining its operations to this quarter. They'll go scouting among the listed properties first—and they may not find this one until I am asking them two hundred and fifty for it."
That afternoon, Johnny, always prompt, was ahead of time at the final committee meeting of the Babies' Fund Fair, but Constance Joy did not seem in the least surprised at his punctuality.
"I was in hopes you'd come early," she greeted him. "I want to show you the score board of your game."
"Honest, did you make one?" he asked, half-incredulous of his good fortune, as she led the way into the library; and his eyes further betrayed his delight when she showed him the score board itself.
"See," she pointed out, "you were to make five thousand dollars an hour for two hundred working hours, beginning on April twenty-second and ending May thirty-first."
Johnny examined the board with eager interest. It was ruled into tiny squares, forty blocks long and seven deep.
"I want to frame that when we're through," he said, admiring the perfect drawing.
"Suppose you lose?" she suggested, smiling to herself at his unconscious use of the word "we".
"No chance," he stoutly returned. "I have to paste a five-thousand-dollar bill in each one of those blocks."
"You've kept your paste brush busy," she congratulated him, marveling anew at how he had done it, as she glanced at the record which she had herself set down. "I have the little squares crossed off up to two hundred and sixty-five thousand dollars."
"The money's in Loring's bank," he cheerfully assured her. "That pays me up to next Tuesday, May second, at two o'clock. This is two o'clock, Thursday. I have twenty-four working hours to loaf."
"Lazy!" she bantered him. "That isn't loafing time; it's only a safety margin."
Her eagerness about it pleased Johnny very much. When he had his million he intended to ask her to marry him; and it was pleasant to have her, all unaware of his purpose, of course, taking such an acute interest in this big game.
"If a man plays too safe he goes broke," objected Johnny seriously, still intent on the diagram, however. "I notice that none of these Sundays or Saturday afternoons have money in them. According to my plan I also allowed for two possible holidays; but why are those two special days left white?"
"Well," hesitated Constance, flushing slightly, "May thirtieth is Decoration Day; and then I allowed for a possible birthday."
"Birthday?" he repeated, perplexed. "Whose?"
"Oh, anybody's," she hastily assured him. "You can move the date to suit. You know you said you weren't going to work on Sundays, evenings, holidays or birthdays."
"I have but one birthday this year, and it comes in the fall," he answered, laughing; then suddenly a dazzling light blinded him. "It's the score keeper's!" he guessed.
In spite of all her efforts to prevent it Constance blushed furiously. "I had intended to give a little party on the nineteenth," she confessed.
"I'm coming!" he emphatically announced.
Aunt Pattie Boyden swept into the room, and Johnny immediately felt that he had on tight shoes. He had once made a fatal error before Aunt Pattie; he had confessed to having been a voter before he owned a dress suit.
Paul Gresham arrived, and Aunt Pattie was as the essence of violets. Paul, though American-born, was a second cousin of Lord Yawpingham. Johnny and Paul sat and inwardly barked at each other. Johnny almost barked outwardly.
Val Russel and Bruce Townley came, and everybody breathed a sigh of relief.
"Well, Johnny," said Val, "I just now saw your newest speculation driving down the Avenue in a pea-green gown and a purple hat."
"I never had a speculation like that," denied Johnny.
"Sounds like a scandal," decided Bruce Townley.
"You might as well tell it, Val," laughed Constance with a mischievous glance at Johnny.
"It hasn't gone very far as yet," replied Val, enjoying Johnny's discomfort, "but it promises well. Johnny and I called upon a wealthy spinster, away upon Riverside Drive, this morning, ostensibly to buy real estate."
Val, leaning his cheek upon his knuckles with his middle finger upon his temple, imitated Miss Purry's languishing air so perfectly that Aunt Pattie and Gresham, both of whom knew the lady, could see her in the flesh—or at least in the bone.
"'Ostensible' is a good word in that neighborhood," opined Gresham lightly. "Were you trying to buy Miss Purry's vacant riverfront property?"
Notwithstanding his seeming nonchalance, Gresham betrayed an earnest interest which Constance noted, and she turned to Johnny with a quick little shake of her head, but he was already answering, and she frowned slightly.
Mrs. Follison arrived, and after her the rest of the committee came trooping by twos and threes,—a bright, busy, chattering mob which stopped all personal conversation.
Last of all came Polly Parsons, accompanied by Ashley Loring and Sammy Chirp, and by the fluffy little orphan whom she had been keeping in school for the last three years.
"I know I'm late," declared Polly defiantly; "but I don't adopt a sister every day. I stopped at Loring's office to do it, and I'm so proud I'm cross-eyed. Sister Winnie, shake hands with everybody and then run out in the gardens with Sammy."
Dutifully, Winnie, in her new role of sister, shook hands with everybody and clenched their friendship with her wide blue eyes and her ingenuous smile; and, dutifully, Sammy Chirp, laden with her sun-hat and parasol and fan, her vanity box and lace hand-bag, took her out into the gardens, and the proceedings began as they usually did when Polly Parsons arrived. Subcommittees took cheerful and happy possession of the most comfortable locations they could find, and Constance Joy walked Ashley Loring out through the side porch.
"There's a very cozy and retired seat in the summer-house," she informed him. "I wish to have a tete-a-tete with you on a most important business matter."
"You may have a tete-a-tete with me on any subject whatsoever," laughed Loring. "I suppose it's about those Johnny Gamble attachments, however."
"It's about that exactly," she acknowledged. "What have you learned of the one for fifty thousand dollars which was attempted to be laid against Mr. Gamble's interest in that hotel property yesterday?"
"Very little," he confessed. "It is of the same sort as the one we discussed the other day."
Constance nodded. "Fraudulent, probably," she guessed.
"I think so myself," agreed Loring. "Trouble is, nobody can locate the Gamble-Collaton books."
"Perhaps they have been destroyed," mused Constance.
"I doubt it," returned Loring. "It would seem the sensible thing to do; but, through some curious psychology which I can not fathom, crooks seldom make away with documentary evidence."
"Who is helping Mr. Collaton?" asked Constance abruptly after a little silence.
"I do not know," answered Loring promptly, looking her squarely in the eye.
"Some one of our mutual acquaintance," she persisted shrewdly. "Twice, now, attachments have been served on Mr. Gamble when the news of his having attachable property could only have come from our set."
They had turned the corner of the lilac screen and found a little summer-house occupied by Sammy and Winnie, and the low mellow voice of Winnie was flowing on and on without a break.
"It's the darlingest vanity purse I ever saw," she babbled. "Sister Polly bought it for me this morning. She's the dearest dear in the world! I don't wonder you're so crazy about her. How red your hand is next to mine! Madge Cunningham says that I have the whitest and prettiest hands of any girl in school—and she's made a special study of hands. Isn't that the cunningest sapphire ring? Sister Polly sent it to me on my last birthday; so now you know what month I was born in. Jeannette Crawley says it's just the color of my eyes. She writes poetry. She wrote some awfully sweet verses about my hair. 'The regal color of the flaming sun', she called it. She's dreadfully romantic; but the poor child's afraid she will never have a chance on account of her snub nose. We thought her nose was cute though. Miss Grazie, our professor of ancient history, said my nose was of the most perfect Greek profile she had ever seen—just like that on the features of Clytie, and with just as delicately formed nostrils. We set the funniest trap for her once. Somebody always told the principal when we were going to sneak our fudge nights, and we suspected it was one of the ugly girls—they're always either the sweetest or the meanest girls in school, you know. We had a signal for it, of course—one finger to the right eye and closing the left; and one day, when we were planning for a big fudge spree that night, I saw Miss Grazie watching us pass the sign. There isn't much escapes my eyes. Sure enough, that night Miss Porley made a raid. Well, on Thursday, Madge Cunningham and myself, without saying a word to anybody, stayed in Miss Grazie's room after class and gave each—other the fudge signal; and sure enough, that night—"
Constance and Loring tiptoed away, leaving the bewildered Sammy smiling feebly into the eyes of Winnie and floundering hopelessly in the maze of her information.
"I have it," declared Constance. "That lovely little chatterbox has given me an idea."
"Is it possible?" chuckled Loring. "Poor Sammy!"
"He was smiling," laughed Constance. "Here comes the chairman of the floor-walkers' committee."
Gresham, always uneasy in the absence of Constance, who was too valuable a part of his scheme of life to be left in charge of his friends, had come into the garden after them on the pretext of consulting the general committee.
"Do you know anything about the Garfield Bank?" Constance asked Gresham in the first convenient pause.
"It is very good as far as I have heard," he replied after careful consideration. "Are there any rumors out against it?"
"Quite the contrary," she hastily assured him. "It is so convenient, however, that I had thought of opening a small account there. Mr. Gamble transferred his funds to that bank to-day—and if he can trust them with over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars I should think I might give them my little checking account."
When they were alone again Loring turned to her in surprise.
"I have Johnny's money in my name. I didn't know he had opened an account with the Garfield Bank," he wondered.
"Neither did I," she laughed. "I told a fib! I laid a trap!"