“I think I should have ten per cent. net, besides the proportionate earning of my four thousand—­for giving you fellows the first chance.  There’s plenty would jump at it.”

“That’s fair enough,” said Archibald.  “Mr. Thompson, you will excuse us?  Our trip will only be postponed.  I’ll have to fly around to rustle ready money.  I’ll see Bowring first.”

“Hold on,” said Mitchell.  “Why don’t you let my friend in on this?  He’s got the scads, and he’s a good fellow.”

“Oh, he would have to go and see the place,” objected Archibald, his eye evidently on the main chance.

“No, he won’t.  We looked it over yesterday.  I showed it to him because I used to live there.  Don’t be selfish, Archie.  There’s plenty of chances for you to make money.  Get your pail, Thompson!”

“We-ll,” said Archibald grudgingly.  “So long as it’s not sure that Bowring can spare me the money, let him take over a third if he wants to.”

“Sure I do,” grinned the prospective buyer, highly elated, “and much obliged to you, too, Mr. Archibald.

“That’s all right,” said that person gruffly.  “Now then, Loring, come out of it!  Time’s flying.  Where?  When?  How?  Never saw an artist yet that could think on straight lines,” he grumbled.

“All of you get your money, meet at Mitchell’s rooms.  I’ll let Post know and join you there later.  We’ll wait till dark, get a tried and acquitted notary of my acquaintance, slip around to Post’s lair after dark and do the deed.  I’ll stand a ripping dinner for the bunch out of my ten per cent.  Put deed on record to-morrow morning.  That’ll give him start enough.  Is that all clear?”

“Clear as a bell.  I’m off!” said Archibald.

“Archie’s a good sort, but he does hate to let a dollar get by him.”  The artist laughed indulgently.  “I say, Thompson, did you see how he stuck on letting you have a whack at it?”

“Where do you bank?” inquired Mitchell.  Steve told him where his money was deposited.  Mitchell shook his head.  “I was hoping we would go the same way, but I go uptown.”

Ten minutes after they left the industrious bookkeeper returned with navvies and draymen, and removed the office furniture to parts unknown.

* * * * *

When the four financiers got together in Mitchell’s room Steve proposed to continue his lessons in the fascinating game of bridge.

He drank freely and his game was the apotheosis of bumble-puppy.  Archibald, his partner, was much irritated by his stupidity.

A bellboy came to the door.  A gentleman in the parlor would like to see Mr. Thompson.

Mr. Thompson looked at the card.  “Mr. A.W.  Wyatt,” he announced sneeringly.  “You can tell Mr. A.W.  Wyatt, if he wants to see me, he can just naturally mosey himself up here.”

“Not the A.W.  Wyatt—­Anson Walworth Wyatt?” asked Loring.  “I know him—­I mean, I know him by sight.”