Johnny, whose sources of information were many and varied, called on a certain Miss Purry the very next morning, taking along Val Russel to introduce him.
"Any friend of Mr. Russel's is welcome, I am sure," declared Miss Purry, passing a clammy wedge of a hand to Johnny, who felt the chill in his palm creeping down his spine. "Of the Maryland Gambles?"
"No, White Roads," replied Johnny cheerfully. Miss Purry's chiseled smile remained, but it was not the same. "I came to see you about that vacant building site, just beyond the adjoining property."
Miss Purry shook her head,
"I'm afraid I could not even consider selling it without a very specific knowledge of its future." And her pale green eyes took on a slightly deeper hue.
Val Russel stifled a sly grin.
"This was once a very aristocratic neighborhood," he informed Johnny with well-assumed sorrow. "Miss Purry is the last of the fine old families to keep alive the traditions of the district. Except for her influence, the new-rich have vulgarized the entire locality."
"Thank you," cooed Miss Purry. "I could not have said that myself, but I can't hinder Mr. Russel from saying it. Nearly all of my neighbors tried to buy the riverview plot, about which you have come to see me; but I did not care to sell—to them."
Her emphasis on the last two words was almost imperceptible, but it was there; and her reminiscent satisfaction was so complete that Johnny, who had known few women, was perplexed.
"If all the old families had been as careful the Bend would not have deteriorated," Val stated maliciously, knowing just how to encourage her. "However, the new-comers are benefited by Miss Purry's resolve—particularly Mrs. Slosher. The Sloshers are just on the other side of the drive from the vacant property, and they have almost as good a river view as if they had been able to purchase it and build upon it in the first place."
The green of Miss Purry's eyes deepened another tone.
"Mr. Slosher, who is now in Europe, was almost brutal in his determination to purchase the property," she stated with painful repression. "The present Mrs. Slosher is a pretty doll, and he is childishly infatuated with her; but his millions can not buy everything she demands."
Ignorant of social interplay as Johnny Gamble was, he somehow divined that William G. Slosher's doll was the neighborhood reason for everything.
"If you were only certain of what you intend to build there—" she suggested, to break the helpless silence.
"I have an apartment-house in mind," he told her.
"That would be very large and very high, no doubt," she guessed, looking pleased.
"It's the only kind that would pay," Johnny Gamble hastily assured her. "It would be expensive—no suite less than three thousand a year and nobody allowed to do anything."
"I'll consider the matter," she said musingly.
"What about the price?" asked Johnny, whose mind had been fixed upon that important detail.
"Oh, yes—the price," agreed Miss Purry indifferently; "I've been holding it at two hundred thousand. I shall continue to hold it at that figure."
"Then that's the price," decided Johnny. "Can't we come to an agreement now?"
"To-morrow afternoon at three," she dryly insisted.
He saw that she meant to-morrow afternoon at three.
"Can't I arrange with you for a twenty-four-hour option?" he begged, becoming anxious.
"I shall not bind myself in any way," she declared. "To-morrow afternoon at three."
"That's a beautiful piece of property," commented Johnny as they drove by. "By George, the apartment-house will shut those people off from the river!"
"That's the only reason she'd be willing to sell," replied Val. "What set you hunting up this property?"
"The De Luxe Apartments Company intends confining its operations to this quarter. They'll go scouting among the listed properties first—and they may not find this one until I am asking them two hundred and fifty for it."
That afternoon, Johnny, always prompt, was ahead of time at the final committee meeting of the Babies' Fund Fair, but Constance Joy did not seem in the least surprised at his punctuality.
"I was in hopes you'd come early," she greeted him. "I want to show you the score board of your game."
"Honest, did you make one?" he asked, half-incredulous of his good fortune, as she led the way into the library; and his eyes further betrayed his delight when she showed him the score board itself.
"See," she pointed out, "you were to make five thousand dollars an hour for two hundred working hours, beginning on April twenty-second and ending May thirty-first."
Johnny examined the board with eager interest. It was ruled into tiny squares, forty blocks long and seven deep.
"I want to frame that when we're through," he said, admiring the perfect drawing.
"Suppose you lose?" she suggested, smiling to herself at his unconscious use of the word "we".
"No chance," he stoutly returned. "I have to paste a five-thousand-dollar bill in each one of those blocks."
"You've kept your paste brush busy," she congratulated him, marveling anew at how he had done it, as she glanced at the record which she had herself set down. "I have the little squares crossed off up to two hundred and sixty-five thousand dollars."
"The money's in Loring's bank," he cheerfully assured her. "That pays me up to next Tuesday, May second, at two o'clock. This is two o'clock, Thursday. I have twenty-four working hours to loaf."
"Lazy!" she bantered him. "That isn't loafing time; it's only a safety margin."
Her eagerness about it pleased Johnny very much. When he had his million he intended to ask her to marry him; and it was pleasant to have her, all unaware of his purpose, of course, taking such an acute interest in this big game.
"If a man plays too safe he goes broke," objected Johnny seriously, still intent on the diagram, however. "I notice that none of these Sundays or Saturday afternoons have money in them. According to my plan I also allowed for two possible holidays; but why are those two special days left white?"
"Well," hesitated Constance, flushing slightly, "May thirtieth is Decoration Day; and then I allowed for a possible birthday."
"Birthday?" he repeated, perplexed. "Whose?"
"Oh, anybody's," she hastily assured him. "You can move the date to suit. You know you said you weren't going to work on Sundays, evenings, holidays or birthdays."
"I have but one birthday this year, and it comes in the fall," he answered, laughing; then suddenly a dazzling light blinded him. "It's the score keeper's!" he guessed.
In spite of all her efforts to prevent it Constance blushed furiously. "I had intended to give a little party on the nineteenth," she confessed.
"I'm coming!" he emphatically announced.
Aunt Pattie Boyden swept into the room, and Johnny immediately felt that he had on tight shoes. He had once made a fatal error before Aunt Pattie; he had confessed to having been a voter before he owned a dress suit.
Paul Gresham arrived, and Aunt Pattie was as the essence of violets. Paul, though American-born, was a second cousin of Lord Yawpingham. Johnny and Paul sat and inwardly barked at each other. Johnny almost barked outwardly.
Val Russel and Bruce Townley came, and everybody breathed a sigh of relief.
"Well, Johnny," said Val, "I just now saw your newest speculation driving down the Avenue in a pea-green gown and a purple hat."
"I never had a speculation like that," denied Johnny.
"Sounds like a scandal," decided Bruce Townley.
"You might as well tell it, Val," laughed Constance with a mischievous glance at Johnny.
"It hasn't gone very far as yet," replied Val, enjoying Johnny's discomfort, "but it promises well. Johnny and I called upon a wealthy spinster, away upon Riverside Drive, this morning, ostensibly to buy real estate."
Val, leaning his cheek upon his knuckles with his middle finger upon his temple, imitated Miss Purry's languishing air so perfectly that Aunt Pattie and Gresham, both of whom knew the lady, could see her in the flesh—or at least in the bone.
"'Ostensible' is a good word in that neighborhood," opined Gresham lightly. "Were you trying to buy Miss Purry's vacant riverfront property?"
Notwithstanding his seeming nonchalance, Gresham betrayed an earnest interest which Constance noted, and she turned to Johnny with a quick little shake of her head, but he was already answering, and she frowned slightly.
Mrs. Follison arrived, and after her the rest of the committee came trooping by twos and threes,—a bright, busy, chattering mob which stopped all personal conversation.
Last of all came Polly Parsons, accompanied by Ashley Loring and Sammy Chirp, and by the fluffy little orphan whom she had been keeping in school for the last three years.
"I know I'm late," declared Polly defiantly; "but I don't adopt a sister every day. I stopped at Loring's office to do it, and I'm so proud I'm cross-eyed. Sister Winnie, shake hands with everybody and then run out in the gardens with Sammy."
Dutifully, Winnie, in her new role of sister, shook hands with everybody and clenched their friendship with her wide blue eyes and her ingenuous smile; and, dutifully, Sammy Chirp, laden with her sun-hat and parasol and fan, her vanity box and lace hand-bag, took her out into the gardens, and the proceedings began as they usually did when Polly Parsons arrived. Subcommittees took cheerful and happy possession of the most comfortable locations they could find, and Constance Joy walked Ashley Loring out through the side porch.
"There's a very cozy and retired seat in the summer-house," she informed him. "I wish to have a tete-a-tete with you on a most important business matter."
"You may have a tete-a-tete with me on any subject whatsoever," laughed Loring. "I suppose it's about those Johnny Gamble attachments, however."
"It's about that exactly," she acknowledged. "What have you learned of the one for fifty thousand dollars which was attempted to be laid against Mr. Gamble's interest in that hotel property yesterday?"
"Very little," he confessed. "It is of the same sort as the one we discussed the other day."
Constance nodded. "Fraudulent, probably," she guessed.
"I think so myself," agreed Loring. "Trouble is, nobody can locate the Gamble-Collaton books."
"Perhaps they have been destroyed," mused Constance.
"I doubt it," returned Loring. "It would seem the sensible thing to do; but, through some curious psychology which I can not fathom, crooks seldom make away with documentary evidence."
"Who is helping Mr. Collaton?" asked Constance abruptly after a little silence.
"I do not know," answered Loring promptly, looking her squarely in the eye.
"Some one of our mutual acquaintance," she persisted shrewdly. "Twice, now, attachments have been served on Mr. Gamble when the news of his having attachable property could only have come from our set."
They had turned the corner of the lilac screen and found a little summer-house occupied by Sammy and Winnie, and the low mellow voice of Winnie was flowing on and on without a break.
"It's the darlingest vanity purse I ever saw," she babbled. "Sister Polly bought it for me this morning. She's the dearest dear in the world! I don't wonder you're so crazy about her. How red your hand is next to mine! Madge Cunningham says that I have the whitest and prettiest hands of any girl in school—and she's made a special study of hands. Isn't that the cunningest sapphire ring? Sister Polly sent it to me on my last birthday; so now you know what month I was born in. Jeannette Crawley says it's just the color of my eyes. She writes poetry. She wrote some awfully sweet verses about my hair. 'The regal color of the flaming sun', she called it. She's dreadfully romantic; but the poor child's afraid she will never have a chance on account of her snub nose. We thought her nose was cute though. Miss Grazie, our professor of ancient history, said my nose was of the most perfect Greek profile she had ever seen—just like that on the features of Clytie, and with just as delicately formed nostrils. We set the funniest trap for her once. Somebody always told the principal when we were going to sneak our fudge nights, and we suspected it was one of the ugly girls—they're always either the sweetest or the meanest girls in school, you know. We had a signal for it, of course—one finger to the right eye and closing the left; and one day, when we were planning for a big fudge spree that night, I saw Miss Grazie watching us pass the sign. There isn't much escapes my eyes. Sure enough, that night Miss Porley made a raid. Well, on Thursday, Madge Cunningham and myself, without saying a word to anybody, stayed in Miss Grazie's room after class and gave each—other the fudge signal; and sure enough, that night—"
Constance and Loring tiptoed away, leaving the bewildered Sammy smiling feebly into the eyes of Winnie and floundering hopelessly in the maze of her information.
"I have it," declared Constance. "That lovely little chatterbox has given me an idea."
"Is it possible?" chuckled Loring. "Poor Sammy!"
"He was smiling," laughed Constance. "Here comes the chairman of the floor-walkers' committee."
Gresham, always uneasy in the absence of Constance, who was too valuable a part of his scheme of life to be left in charge of his friends, had come into the garden after them on the pretext of consulting the general committee.
"Do you know anything about the Garfield Bank?" Constance asked Gresham in the first convenient pause.
"It is very good as far as I have heard," he replied after careful consideration. "Are there any rumors out against it?"
"Quite the contrary," she hastily assured him. "It is so convenient, however, that I had thought of opening a small account there. Mr. Gamble transferred his funds to that bank to-day—and if he can trust them with over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars I should think I might give them my little checking account."
When they were alone again Loring turned to her in surprise.
"I have Johnny's money in my name. I didn't know he had opened an account with the Garfield Bank," he wondered.
"Neither did I," she laughed. "I told a fib! I laid a trap!"
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