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!"
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