Author: George Randolph Chester
Category: Humorous
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"Well, I've given Mr. Gamble an option on it," admitted Gresham reluctantly.
"For how much?"
"That would be telling," interposed Gamble.
"For how long is your option?" the colonel demanded.
"Thirty days."
"What are you buying it for—investment or improvement?"
"That would be telling again."
"Will you sell it?"
"Depends on the price."
"What'll you take for it?"
"Fifty-five thousand."
"Bless my soul!" exclaimed the colonel. "Why, man, that's robbery! I'll never pay it. I'll take a chance on waiting until your option expires, then I'll do business with Gresham. Gresham, what will you want for the property if Gamble, or WHEN Gamble doesn't take it up? "
"Fifty thousand," said Gresham, and glanced darkly at Gamble.
Miss Joy interrupted with a laugh. Gresham looked at her inquiringly, but he did not ask her the joke. She volunteered an explanation, however.
"I'm just framing a definition of business ethics," she stated; "but really I don't see the difference between yours and Mr. Gamble's."
"Business ethics consists in finding a man who has some money, and hitting him behind the ear with a sand-bag," explained the colonel. "Even your price is a holdup, Gresham; but I think I can buy it for less when the time comes—if I want it."
"You'll have four months to make up your mind," said Gamble with a triumphant look at Constance.
"I thought your option was for only thirty days."
"It's renewable three times."
"Bless my soul!" shouted the colonel. "That puts an entirely different face upon the matter. If you don't want too much money for it, Gamble, I don't mind confessing that I'd like to build an extension to my factory on that property. Now that my defenses are down, soak me."
"I couldn't refuse a little thing like that. I'll soak you all I can. I said fifty-five thou-sand, you know."
"You didn't mean it, though!" expostulated the colonel.
"What did I mean then?"
"You meant forty thousand."
"As a mind-reader you're a flivver," chided Gamble. "I'll let you down one notch, Colonel. I'll make it fifty thousand—and not one cent less."
The colonel looked at him sorrowfully.
"Do you really mean that, Johnny?" he inquired.
"I really mean it."
"Well, if you say you really mean it you really mean it. I know you well enough for that," admitted the colonel with a sigh. "It's a rank robbery though. I'll take you, Johnny."
Gamble turned to Gresham.
"If you don't mind, I'll just transfer my option to the colonel," he suggested.
"The game is in your hands—for the present," Gresham acknowledged.
"We'll just fix it up that way, then, Colonel. Polly, lend me your fountain-pen again. Colonel, you may hand me your check for seventeen thousand five hundred. You may pay the balance of the money to Gresham—upon delivery, I suppose, of the deed."
"Surely," said the colonel nonchalantly; and, producing his own fountain-pen and check-book, he wrote Johnny Gamble's check, while Gamble wrote a transfer of his option. Constance watched that unquestioning operation between the two gentlemen with puzzled brows.
"You're not taking this matter to your lawyer, Colonel," she observed.
"Certainly not!" he replied in surprise. "I've known Johnny Gamble for years, and I'd take his word for my entire bank-account."
"I must confess that business ethics has me more confused than ever," laughed Constance. "You just now accused Mr. Gamble of robbing you."
It was the colonel's turn to laugh.
"I'd have paid him sixty thousand," he advised her, placing the option affectionately in his pocket-book. "It's worth that to me. I've been afraid to broach the matter to Gresham for a month, for fear he'd want seventy-five when he found out I had to have it. I'm getting it cheaper through Gamble."
A fleeting trace of guilt upon Gresham's countenance told that this surmise was the truth, and Constance shook her head.
"I don't suppose I shall ever understand it," she confessed.
"I don't, myself," observed Gamble, passing the colonel's check between his fingers quite happily. "I can loaf three hours now on that two-hundred-hour stunt, thanks to you, Gresham."
"You had your start by luck," Gresham reminded him.
"Not at all," insisted Gamble cheerfully. "I would have borrowed the money from the colonel to buy that option. How's that for ethics, Miss Joy?"
"It's quite in keeping with your methods of the day," rejoined Gresham. "I still insist that you took an unfair advantage of me."
The colonel, who regretted to be compelled to dislike anybody, turned upon Gresham a dissatisfied eye.
"Oh, play the game or stay out of it!" he advised. "I'll see you at my lawyer's to-morrow at eleven. Come with me a minute, Johnny. I want you to meet a friend of mine who has a big real estate deal on tap, and he may not go back on our train to-night."
Johnny Gamble made his adieus from the Boyden box with reluctance. The horses were lining up at the barrier for the last race, and he might not return in time. While he was bidding a thoroughly inadequate good-by to Constance, Loring came up hastily and called Polly from the box.
"Sammy Chirp called my attention to Gresham and Collaton talking together rather furtively down under the grandstand a few minutes ago," he said. "I have a curious impression that they mean harm to Gamble."
"It was Gresham got the harm. Johnny just beat him to a fifteen- thousand-dollar profit."
"So that was it," said Loring with a frown. "Tell him to watch out. They were about to attach his bank-account the last time he paid an unexpected note," and he lounged into the box.
Polly followed Johnny Gamble when he started to rejoin the colonel.
"Do me a favor, please, Johnny," she begged.
"Certainly," he returned. "Do you know what it is?"
"Here's my fountain-pen. Indorse that check over to me, won't you?"
"What's the joke?" he asked.
"I don't want you to have the money. I'm in a hurry now."
"Well, I'm broke again," laughed Johnny in perfect confidence; and he indorsed the check.
"The most thoroughgoing plebe I ever saw," Gresham commented, looking after Gamble. "It's so fortunate that one is only compelled to meet him in public places."
Constance glanced at him curiously and hurried to the rear rail of the box. She barely mentioned Mr. Gamble's name, and it was surprising how easily he heard her and how quickly he came back.
"I forgot to ask you to call," she said. "If you can spare any time from your pursuit of that million dollars we should be glad to see you at the house—Aunt Pattie and I."
"Will you be busy to-morrow evening?" he briskly inquired.
"There's no one expected but Mr. Gresham," she informed him with a smile at his precipitancy.
"I'll be there," he stated with businesslike decisiveness. "I'll bring along from five to twenty thousand dollars' worth of time and use up as much of it as you'll let me."
"I'll have a meter," she laughed.
CHAPTER V. IN WHICH JOHNNY DISPLAYS TALENT AS A TRUE PROMOTER
"I don't know much about bookkeeping, but I guess this will do," observed Johnny, passing over his first attempt for inspection.
Loring examined the little book with keen enjoyment. Johnny had opened an account with himself and had made five entries. On the debit side appeared the following items:
April 22. To three working hours, $15,000
April 23. Sunday.
April 24. To desk rent, ...$38
April 24. To seven working hours, $35,000
On the credit side was this:
April 22. By skinning Paul Gresham—good work, ..... $15,000
"How is it?" asked Gamble anxiously.
"Good work!" pronounced Loring with a chuckle. "They may not teach this sort of bookkeeping in commercial colleges
. Their kind is stiff and dry. This has personality. Why am I two dollars shy on desk rent, though? I thought you were to take forty days to make your million dollars?"
"That's right," admitted Johnny; "seven hours on week-days and three on Saturdays—two hundred hours at five thousand an hour. I started on Saturday, however. To-day is Monday. This morning is when I begin to use your desk-room. Here's your dollar a day until four P.M., May thirty-first." And he handed Loring thirty-eight dollars.
"You're not really going to try that absurd stunt?" protested Loring incredulously.
"I have to. Miss Joy will think I'm a four-flusher if I don't."
"Miss Joy again!" laughed Loring. "You only met her Saturday, and I don't think you've thought of another thing since."
"Gresham and her million," corrected Johnny, and he started for the door.
"Where are you going—if anybody should ask for you?" inquired Loring.
"Fourth National."
"To deposit Gresham's fifteen thousand?"
"No," laughed Gamble. "Polly took that away from me."
"That's a good safe place for it," returned Loring, relieved.
"Safe as the mint," corroborated Johnny, and hurried out.
As he went up the steps of the Fourth National Bank a pallid-faced young man, with eyebrows, eyelashes and hair so nearly the color of his skin that they were invisible, watched him out of the window of a taxi that had been standing across the street ever since the bank had opened. As soon as Johnny entered the door the young man gave a direction to the driver, and the taxi hurried away.
President Close was conservatively glad to see Johnny. He was a crisp-faced man, with an extremely tight-cropped gray mustache; and not a single crease in his countenance was flexible in the slightest degree. He had an admiration amounting almost to affection for Johnny—provided the promising young man did not want money.
"Good morning," he greeted his caller. "What can we do for you to- day?" And in great haste he mentally reviewed the contents of credit envelope G-237. That envelope, being devoted to Mr. Gamble, contained a very clear record; so Mr. Close came as near to smiling as those cast-iron creases would allow.
"Want to give the Fourth National as a reference," returned Johnny cheerfully.
"I see," assented Mr. Close, immediately ceasing to smile; for now approached the daily agony of life—the grudging of credit. "I see; I see. Do you propose engaging in a new venture?"
"Just as often as I can find one," stated Johnny briskly.
Mr. Close looked at him with stern disapproval.
"That does not sound like a very stable frame of mind," he chided. "What do you propose to do first?"
"A twenty-story hotel."
"That runs into millions!" gasped Close, and reached out to touch a button upon his desk; but Johnny Gamble stayed that hand.
"You're after my balance," he said. "It's twelve dollars and thirty- seven cents."
"Well, you see, Mr. Gamble, under the circumstances—" hesitated Mr. Close.
"I know," interrupted the applicant; "you can only say I'm good for twelve-thirty-seven. I don't ask you to back me. If anybody 'phones you, just say I'm a good boy."
Mr. Close almost smiled again.
"So far as the moral risk is concerned I shall have no hesitation in speaking most highly of you," he granted.
"And don't laugh when you say it," Johnny admonished, smiling cheerfully, for he knew that Close always did better than he promised. "Tell them this, can't you?—I've banked with you for five years. I've run about a ton of money through your shop. I've been broke a dozen times and I never left a debt behind me. I've been trusted and I always made good. I guess you could say all that if you stopped to take a couple of breaths, couldn't you?"
"I shall certainly say those things if I am asked about them," replied Mr. Close, considering them carefully, one by one." Don't hesitate to refer to me. I'll do the best I conscientiously can for you."
Johnny stood waiting for the stream of the traffic to stop for the cross-current, so that he could go over to the subway, when a big blue touring car stopped just in front of him, and the driver, a hearty young woman all in blue, including plumes and shoes, hailed him joyously.
"Jump in, Johnny!" she invited. "I found a four-leaf clover this morning—and here I'm lucky already. Sammy, run into the drug store for some chocolates. Johnny, sit up here with me."
Sammy Chirp, who tied his own cravats and did them nicely, smiled feebly in recognition of Johnny Gamble, lugged Miss Polly Parson's bouquet, parasol, fan, hand-bag and coat back into the tonneau and went upon his errand.
"Thanks, Sammy," said Johnny, and clambered into young Chirp's place in the car. "Where are you going to take me?"
"Any place you say," rejoined Polly.
"Drive over on Seventh Avenue, then," he directed. "There's a lot of shack property around the new terminal station. I want to build a smashing big hotel over there. I don't see why somebody hasn't done it."
Polly puzzled over that matter considerably herself.
"It doesn't seem possible that New York would overlook a bet like that," she declared, and obeying the traffic policeman's haughty gesture, turned briskly off Broadway.
"Why not?" he demanded. "New York grabs a cinch. The cinch has been kicking around loose for fifty years. New York pats herself on the pink bald spot. 'Nothing gets by me!' she says."
"New York's the best town in the world!" Polly flared.
"I wasn't insulting your friend," apologized Johnny, and looked at his watch. "Great Scott! It's ten-thirty!" he exploded. "I owe myself seventy-five hundred dollars. All I've done is to decide on a Terminal Hotel Company. Want some stock, Polly?"
"I'll take all I can reach if you're leading it around," she assured him. "I can't take much, but I'll make Daddy Parsons go in, and I'll be a nuisance to every moneyed man I know."
"By the by, where's the fifteen thousand I made Saturday?" Johnny asked.
"In my bank," she replied. "I just deposited it."
"Why did you take it away from me—if it's any of my business?" he wanted to know.
"I was afraid they'd snatch it from you," she returned. "Gresham was all peeved up because you took fifteen thousand away from him in front of Constance. Loring saw Gresham and your old partner talking together immediately afterward; and he told me that they might frame up some crooked scheme to grab the money. I didn't have a chance to explain, so I asked you to indorse the check to me."
"Do you think Collaton's crooked?" Johnny asked with a queer smile.
"I can think he's crooked without batting an eyelash. I can think it about Gresham too."
"Why do you have that idea about Gresham?"
"Because I don't like him," she triumphantly argued.
"Shake!" invited Johnny. "I know six reasons why I can do without him. What are your six?"
"One is because I don't like him, and another is because he's going to marry Constance, and the other four are because I don't like him," she calmly summed up.
"Does Constance say he's going to marry her?" he inquired crisply.
"Not in so many words."
"Then I don't believe it. I wouldn't marry him for six millions."
"Constance can't be so careless. If they break you they can't sprint fast enough to keep it; but if they take it away from Constance she's broke."
"It's ten-forty!" groaned Johnny. "I'm slow on that million. Constance'll think I'm loafing."
"Is she interested?"
"She promised last night to keep score. Gresham was there. I looked, any minute, to see him bite himself in the neck and die of poison. Polly, he can't have her."
"You'd better tell Constance about that," laughed Polly. "Why, Johnny, you had never seen her or heard of her forty-eight hours ago!"
"I know; I didn't have the right chances when I was young!"
Polly gazed upon him admiringly.
"I've seen swift love affairs before, but you've set a new record!" she exclaim
ed. "Well, I'm for you, Johnny. Since poor Billy's parents adopted me and made me a cousin of Constance, I can trot up her stone steps any minute; and she treats me as if I'd had my first bottle in a pink-silk boudoir. I'll make it my business to run up there twice a day and boost for you."
"Don't be too strong!" Johnny hastily warned her. "Boost half of the time if you want to, but be sure and knock the other half."
"I guess it would be better," soberly agreed Polly—"even with Constance. Here's your terminal station. Pick out your corner and drive a claim stake."
Polly obligingly drove slowly around three sides of the huge new terminal. Directly opposite the main entrance was a vacant plot of ground, with a frontage of an entire block and a depth of four hundred feet. Big white signs upon each corner told that it was for sale by Mallard Tyne. They stopped in front of this location, while both Johnny and Polly ranged their eyes upward, by successive steps, to the roof garden which surmounted the twentieth story of Johnny's imaginary Terminal Hotel.
"It's a nifty-looking building, Johnny!" she complimented him as they turned to each other with sheepish smiles.
"I'm going to tear it down and put up a better one," he briskly told her. "I'll hand you a piece of private information. If the big railroad company which built this terminal station doesn't own that blank space it's a fool—and I don't think it is. If it does the property will be held for ever for the increase in value. Let's look at these other blocks. The buildings on the one next to it are worth about a plugged nickel apiece—and that would make exactly as good a location."
"But, Johnny; you couldn't build a hotel in forty days!"
"Build it! I don't want to. I only want to promote it."
"Does a promoter never build?" asked Polly.
"Not if he can escape," replied Johnny. "All a promoter ever wants to do is to collect the first ninety-nine years' profits and promote something else. Drive me up to the address on that real estate sign and I'll pay you whatever the clock says and let you go."
"The clock says a one-pound box of chocolates," she promptly estimated. "Wait, though. I did send for some!" And she looked back into the tonneau. "Why, drat it all! I mislaid Sammy!" she gasped.