Author: George Randolph Chester
Category: Humorous
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"I'm cheating you in the exchange, but my conscience doesn't hurt me in the least," accepted Loring with alacrity.
"I've never been in your car, Ashley," insinuated Gresham. "You might invite me to try it out too."
"At five-thirty to-morrow evening," Ashley coolly advised him. "I'd be very glad to have you come along now; but the car is engaged for a strictly private demonstration."
Since the others were prepared to guy him unmercifully if he persisted, Gresham hinted no more and, very much to his discomfort, saw Loring gaily drive away with Constance.
On Riverside Drive, Loring spent the first fifteen minutes in extolling the virtues of his car and Constance listened with patient attention; but during the first convenient silence she surprised Loring with a bit of crisp business talk.
"Would you mind telling me the history of Mr. Gamble's partnership with Mr. Collaton?" she asked.
"I guess I heard what you said," he returned doubtfully, and he looked at her in astonishment. "Of course you know that Johnny is a client of mine."
"I know that he is a friend of yours also," she reminded him.
"On that basis I'll tell you anything you want to know," laughed Loring. "Johnny was doing an excellent business in real estate speculation when this man Collaton came to him with an enormous irrigation scheme. They formed a partnership. Collaton went out West to superintend the reclaiming of some thousands of acres of arid land, while Johnny stayed here to sell rose-bordered farms to romantic city home seekers. Collaton spent money faster than Johnny could get it, and operations had to be discontinued. Johnny has been paying the debts of the concern ever since. Every time he thinks he has them cleared off, a new set bobs up; and, since the books and all the papers are lost, he can't prove or disprove anything. Johnny can't even dissolve the partnership so long as there are indefinite outstanding accounts. Now, Constance, I'm not a good lawyer or I would not, even in strict confidence like this, say the following, to wit and namely: I think Collaton is a plain ordinary sneak- thief."
They were both silent for a little time.
"Doesn't it seem rather strange that the people who hold claims against Mr. Gamble should just happen to attach his bank-account on the very day he was expected to make a deposit, and for the identical amount?" Constance asked in a puzzled way.
Loring gave her a startled glance.
"It does seem strange," he admitted.
"It would almost seem as if these people had been informed by some one who knew Mr. Gamble's circumstances quite intimately," she went on.
"That is a very delicate matter to discuss," Loring, with professional caution, gravely reminded her, fearing that she might mention Gresham's name.
"You are quite right," she agreed. "What does Mr. Gamble think about it all?"
"Johnny does a lot of thinking and a lot of talking, but you can't hear what he thinks," replied Loring with a smile. "He is outwardly assuming—and where Collaton is certain to have it repeated to him— that Collaton was merely unfortunate; but I believe he is only waiting for a proof—and then I imagine he will drop on Collaton and whoever is helping him like a ton of pig-iron."
"I hope he does!" declared Constance with such sudden vindictiveness that Loring laughed.
"You seem to have acquired a violent partisanship," he charged her with a curious smile.
"Yes, I have," she admitted with a slight flush. "I like fair play. I believe I have a very even temper, but it angers me to see any one so open and manly and generous as Mr. Gamble made a victim of mean trickery."
"He's a handsome boy too," commented Loring, grinning.
"Well, suppose he is," she petulantly laughed.
"He has a right to be," granted Loring, looking at her with renewed admiration. With a slight flush of confusion upon her she was even more charming than he had ever thought her before. "If I had so tantalizingly pretty a girl so interested in my fortunes I wouldn't care whether they perfected aeroplanes or not," he ventured with the freedom of an old friend.
"You may come down now, thank you," she sweetly informed him. "Can't you get Mr. Gamble to make you his receiver or trustee, or something, for the irrigation company?"
"I might now," mused Loring. "He's so interested in the impulsive attempt to make his million dollars that I think I could persuade him. He seems to be really serious about that million."
"Of course he's serious about it," asserted Constance almost indignantly. "Don't you suppose he can do it?"
"Well, this is the age of financial miracles," acknowledged Loring, but with a shake of his head. "He can't do it, though, if Collaton gobbles up all he makes and injures his credit besides."
Constance drew a deep breath.
"I wish you to act as my agent, Ashley," she said crisply. "Mr. Gamble is certain to make some money, is he not?"
"Johnny will always make money," he assured her.
"If you bring in a bill against him for money you have expended, after you have wound up the Gamble-Collaton affairs, he will, of course, pay it."
"As quickly as he can find a fountain-pen and a check-book."
"I wish to loan him some money without his knowledge. I want you to take fifteen thousand dollars early to-morrow morning and pay that attachment, or whatever it is, at his bank. Naturally I do not want Mr. Gamble to know that I am interested; and I look to you to manage it so that, when the money is returned to me, he shall imagine that you have advanced the funds."
"I can arrange that easily enough," Loring promised her. "Constance, I suppose I ought to advise you that this is silly; but I'm glad you're doing it. Moreover, I feel certain that, if this entanglement is straightened out, Johnny may take a new interest in the irrigation company and, by handling it himself, may recover all his losses."
"I sincerely hope so," returned Constance earnestly. "You know I've taken a queer interest in this quixotic attempt of Mr. Gamble's to make his million. It's like a fascinating game, and I almost feel as if I were playing it myself—I'm so eager about it."
"And your spirit of fair play is aroused," Loring said.
CHAPTER VII. IN WHICH JOHNNY DREAMS OF A MAGNIFICENT TWENTY-STORY HOTEL
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!"
CHAPTER VIII. 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 knot
s 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.