IN WHICH THE COLONEL, MESSRS. COURTNEY, WASHER AND OTHERS SIT IN A
LITTLE GAME
Morton Washer, having acquired a substantial jack-pot with the aid of
four hearts and little casino, boastfully displayed the winning hand.
"Sometime, when you fellows grow up," he kindly offered, "I'll sit down
to a real game of poker with you."
Courtney, keeping the bank, dived ruefully into the box for his fourth
stack of chips.
"There's one thing I must say about Mort," he dryly observed: "he's
cheerful when he wins."
"He can brag harder and louder than any man I ever heard," admitted
iron-faced Joe Close.
Colonel Bouncer, puffing out his red cheeks and snarling affectionately
at his friend Washer, corroborated that statement emphatically.
"He's bragged ever since he was a boy," he stated.
"I always had something to brag about, didn't I?" demanded Washer, his
intemperate little pompadour bristling, and his waxed mustache as
waspish as if he were really provoked.
"I don't know," objected the solemn-faced Courtney. "I stung you for
half a million on that hotel transaction. Give me an ace, Joe."
"Never!" snapped Morton Washer, picking up his cards as they fell. "It
was Johnny Gamble did that. I open this pot right under the guns for
the size of it and an extra sky-blue for luck. None of you old spavins
was ever able to get me single-handed. A young fellow like Johnny
Gamble--that's different. It's his turn. You fellows are all afraid of
my threes."
"The others might be, so I'll just help them stay out," stated Courtney
kindly as he doubled Washer's bet. "By the way, speaking of Johnny
Gamble, he was very anxious to get you fellows out here to-day. Now I
want to give you some solemn advice, Colonel; you'd better keep away
from this pot."
"Bless my soul, I have a rotten hand!" confessed Colonel Bouncer,
puffing his cheeks. "But you old bluffers can't drive me out of any
place; so I'll trail." And he measured up to Courtney's stack. "What's
Gamble's scheme, Ben?"
"I'll have to let Johnny tell you that himself," responded Courtney as
Johnny entered. "Coming into this scramble, Joe?"
"I'm a cautious man," hesitated Close, inspecting the faces of his
companions with calm interest. "I don't think you or Mort have second
cousins among your pasteboards, but the colonel is concealing his
feelings too carefully." And he threw down his cards.
"You're most unprofessional to say so," growled the colonel. "I suppose
you won't see that raise, Mort?"
"I'm not much interested," returned Washer indifferently, "so I'll just
tilt it another stack." And he did so with beautiful carelessness. "On
general principles I'm very favorable to any enterprise Johnny Gamble
offers. Isn't that so, Johnny?"
"I hope so," replied Johnny with a laugh as he approached the table
and, with perfectly blank eyes, looked down at the hand which Washer
conspicuously held up to him.
Courtney cast only a fleeting glance at Johnny, whose face it would be
impolite to read--also impossible--and concentrated his attention upon
his old friend, Washer.
"You infernal scoundrel, I believe you have them," he decided as Washer
folded his cards into the palm of his hand again.
Courtney turned for a careful inspection of the colonel. That
gentleman, daintily picking a fleck of dust from his cuff, looked
unconcernedly off into the sky, whistling softly, and Courtney, pushing
his hand into the discard, lighted a cigar, while the colonel met
Washer's raise and added a tantalizing white chip.
It was now Washer's turn for consideration, and he studied his only
remaining opponent with much interest.
"Give me one card, Joe; mostly kings," he requested as he pushed in his
one white chip. "What's your scheme, Johnny?" And he looked up, quite
indifferent to the card he was tossing away. He picked up the one Close
carefully dealt him and, without looking at it, slid it in among the
other four.
"I'm ready to close with you for that Bronx subdivision," responded
Johnny, acutely watching Colonel Bouncer as that gentleman asked for
one card, received it and studied its countenance with polite
admiration. "It's the proposition I've previously explained to all of
you, but had to lay aside because I couldn't nail down the property."
"I suppose you have it now," observed Morton, pushing forward with
gentle little shoves of his middle finger a very tall stack of chips
arranged in three distinct and equal red, white and blue layers. He had
not yet looked at his fifth card, and at Colonel Bouncer he directed
but a brief and passing glance. Did he care what the colonel held?
"I have the Wobbles estate in my pocket," replied Johnny, still
watching the colonel absorbedly. "I must get you together Monday if
possible."
"Wobbles!" exploded Courtney. "Did you buy that Bronx property at my
party from my guests to sell to us?"
"I did," confessed Johnny with a grin. "This is a lovely party."
The poker game suspended itself for a minute, while all four of the
gentlemen looked at him in contemplative admiration.
"He's a credit to the place," observed Joe Close. "Here's where the
Texas land grab was arranged, and the wool trust formed, and the joker
inserted into the rebate bill."
"Nevertheless, if Johnny Gamble sits in this game I'll cash in my chips
and quit," declared Morton Washer.
"He's good enough company for me," blustered Colonel Bouncer,
scrutinizing his cards one by one.
"I suppose so," agreed Washer with a smile at Johnny, "but he's so full
of young tricks and we're outclassed. What's that property going to
cost us?"
"Three and a half million," stated Johnny quietly.
Colonel Bouncer, having now made up his mind, deliberately and with
nice care measured up blue chips and red chips and white chips matching
Washer's, and added to them all the blue ones he had in his possession.
"Taking any stock yourself, Johnny?" he softly asked.
"Can't afford it," confessed Johnny with a smile.
"The property's quite worth three and a half million," announced
Courtney decisively, watching the face of Morton Washer as that calm
player stared at the colonel's chips. "I'm willing to take a million of
the stock."
"I'll take a million; more if need be," offered Washer. "I've been
wanting in on that for some time. Colonel, what have you got?"
"Five cards," replied the colonel.
"You have threes," charged Washer.
"I'm conducting my business through an agent," laughed Bouncer. "There
it is," and he indicated the stack of blue chips.
"You have threes," insisted Washer. "The reason I'm so particular is
that I have threes myself, and I want to know which are the better."
"There is one clever way to find out," bantered the colonel
confidently. "You have a lot of chips. Why are you so stingy with them?"
"That's the way I got them," countered Washer. "I'll donate though.
I'll do better than that: I'll tap you."
The colonel promptly counted his remaining red and white chips. Washer
as promptly measured up to them and to the blues.
"Told you the truth!" he exulted. "I said I had threes, and here they
are! Three tens and a king and another ten!" And he gleefully spread
down his cards. "I caught the pink one."
"Had mine all the time!" triumphed Colonel Bouncer, throwing down his
hand and putting both big arms round the pot. "Four elevens!" And
chuckling near to the apoplexy line he scraped the chips home, while
Washer inspected his excellent collection of jacks. "Now brag, you old
bluffer!" And, still chuckling, he began sorting the chips into
patriotic piles.
"Enjoy yourselves," granted Washer, concealing his intense chagrin with
as nonchalant an air as possible. "I give you my word those chips are
only loaned. Go on and laugh! You fellows make a lot of fuss over a
cheap little jack-pot. Johnny, must you see us Monday?"
"Can't delay it," replied Johnny, checking his own laughter for the
purpose. "I've paid five hundred thousand of the purchase price.
Another million must be paid in one week and the balance in two weeks."
"That's pretty rapid work," remarked Close, with a frown, beginning
swiftly to figure interest.
"The Wobbleses are in a hurry to sail. I've looked into the title. It's
clear as a whistle. Can't we arrange a meeting at my office?"
They settled on a meeting at three-forty-five on Monday while Morton
Washer dealt.
"Bless my heart, Mort Washer, that's the fourth time you've turned my
first card and it's always a deuce!" complained the colonel. "If you do
it again I shall be compelled to give you an old-time, school-day
licking."
"You can't do it and you never saw the day you could," bristled Washer,
brandishing a bony little fist before the colonel's big face.
"There's one more question I'd like to ask," Johnny interposed on this
violent quarrel. "Will it be necessary for me to offer any stock
outside this group?"
"I can't swing but a quarter of a million to save me; possibly only two
hundred thousand," regretted Bouncer.
"If you'd like to carry a little more I'll let you have the money,
Colonel," offered his bitter enemy of the bony fist.
"Thanks, Mort," returned the colonel gratefully. "However, it is not
necessary to display the fact to the entire gathering that I now have a
pair of those deuces."
Washer quickly reached over, snatched the colonel's cards, replaced
them with his own and went on dealing.
"I think we can handle it all among us, Johnny," figured Courtney.
Shortly afterward, Loring, in high glee, separated Polly from a
hilarious game of drop-the-handkerchief.
"Well, Polly, it's all over!" he exulted. "Johnny has been in to see
his financial backers. He has bought the Wobbles property and he has
made his million dollars."
"If Mr. Courtney hasn't any fireworks he must telephone for some right
away," declared Polly in delight, and suddenly her eyes moistened. "I'm
as dippy about Johnny as his own mother!" she added.
"And in just the same way," returned Loring, secretly glad to recognize
that fact. "When you can spare a little time for it, Polly, you might
become dippy about me."
"I am," she acknowledged, putting her hand upon his arm affectionately.
"But you don't want to marry me," protested Loring, a trace of pain
contracting his brows. "I need you, Polly!"
"Please don't, Ashley," she begged. "It's a for-sure fact that I'm
never going to forget poor Billy. Don't let that stop us being pals,
though, please!"
"Certainly not," agreed Loring, with as much cheerfulness as she could
have wished, and burying deeply for the last time the hope that he had
cherished.
"Look here, Loring," charged Val Russel, striding over with Mrs.
Follison; "you'll kindly come into this game or give us back our Polly."
"You'll have to do without your Polly for a minute, children," insisted
that young woman. "She is to be the bearer of glad tidings," and giving
her eyes another dab she hurried away to the house.
She found Constance alone in the library, instructing herself with an
article on mushroom culture.
"I can read your palm without looking at it, pretty lady," bubbled
Polly. "A large blond gentleman with handsome blue eyes and a million
dollars in his pocket is about to offer you a proposal of marriage."
Constance, suppressing a rising resentment, turned the leaf of her
mushroom article. The next page began a startling political series,
which demanded of the public in violent headlines: "Who Spends Your
Money?" but Constance perused it carefully without noticing the
difference.
"I've had my palm read before," she presently observed.
"You don't seem to be alive to the shock I'm giving you," protested
Polly. "Really, girlie, I have some big news for you. Johnny Gamble has
finished the making of his million!"
"I wish that word million had never been invented!" suddenly flared
Constance. "I'm tired of hearing it. The very thought of it makes me
ill." How did Polly come to know it first?
"I wouldn't care what they'd call it if it would only buy as much,"
returned Polly, still good-naturedly. "And when a regular man like
Johnny Gamble hustles out and gets one, just so he can ask to marry
you, you ought to give a perfectly vulgar exhibition of joy!"
"You have put it very nicely," responded Constance. "If it would only
buy as much! Do you know that my name is seldom mentioned except in
connection with a million dollars? I must either marry one man or lose
a million, or marry another who has made a million for that purpose."
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself!" charged Polly. She glared at
Constance a moment, bursting with more indignant things to say; but
there were so many of them that they choked her in their attempted
egress, and she swished angrily back to the lawn party, exploding most
of the way.
At just this inopportune moment Johnny Gamble found his way into the
peaceful library.
"Well, it's across!" he joyously confided, forgetting in his happiness
the rebuffs of the day. "I have that million!" and he approached her
with such an evident determination of making an exuberant proposal then
and there that Constance could have shrieked. "I congratulate you," she
informed him as she hastily rose. "You deserve it, I am sure. Kindly
excuse me, won't you?" and she sailed out of the room.
Johnny, feeling all awkward joints like a calf, dropped his sailor
straw hat, and Constance heard it rolling after her. With an effort she
kept herself from running, knowing full well that if that hat touched
her skirt she would drop!
Johnny looked at the hat in dumb reproach, but when he left the room he
walked widely round it. He dared not touch it.
"Ow, I say, Mr. Gamble," drawled Eugene, passing him in the doorway,
"we've picked out the puppy."
While Johnny was still smarting from the burden of that information and
wondering what spot of the globe would be most endurable at the present
moment, Courtney came through the hall on some hostly errand.
"Say, Johnny," he blundered in an excess of well-meaning, "why don't
you rest from business for a minute? Why aren't you out among some of
these shady paths with Constance Joy? You've cinched your million, now
go get the girl."
This was too much for the tortured Johnny, and the smoldering agony
within him burst into flame.
"Look here, Courtney!" he declared with a vehemence which really seemed
quite unnecessary, "I'm going to marry Constance Joy whether she likes
it or not!"
A flash of white at the head of the stairs caught Johnny's eye. It was
Constance! There was no hope that she had not heard!
"What's the matter?" asked Courtney, startled by the remarkable change
in his countenance.
"I've got the stomach ache!" groaned Johnny with clumsy evasion, though
possibly he was truthful after all.
"You must have some whisky," insisted Courtney, instantly concerned.
A servant came out of the library.
"I beg your pardon, sir," he remarked, "but I believe this must be your
hat, Mr. Gamble."
Johnny broke one of his most rigid rules. He said: "Damn!"