IN WHICH CONSTANCE SHOWS FURTHER INTEREST IN JOHNNY'S AFFAIRS
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.