“Are you the visitor we have been so frankly discussing?”

“I assume so.”

“Isn’t it rather unfortunate that you did not make your presence known sooner?”

“I hoped that I might have a chance to slip out unseen and save you embarrassment.”

The other came forward at once with hand outstretched.  “My name is Forster,” he said.  “You’re Mr. Banker, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” said Banneker, shaking hands.  For various reasons it did not seem worth while to correct the slight error.

“Look out!  Here’s the old man,” said some one.

Poultney Masters plodded in, his broad paunch shaking with chuckles.  “‘Leave it to the horse,’” he mumbled appreciatively. “’Leave it to the horse.’  It’s good.  It’s damned good.  The right answer.  Who but the horse should know whether a man rides like a gentleman!  Where’s young Banneker?”

Forster introduced the two.  “You’ve got the makings of a polo-man in you,” decreed the great man.  “Where are you playing?”

“I’ve never really played.  Just practiced.”

“Then you ought to be with us.  Where’s Densmore?  We’ll put you up and have you in by the next meeting.”

“A reporter in The Retreat!” protested Kirke who had proffered the bet.

“Why not?” snapped old Poultney Masters.  “Got any objections?”

Since the making or marring of his fortunes, like those of hundreds of other men, lay in the pudgy hollow of the financier’s hand, poor Kirke had no objections which he could not and did not at once swallow.  The subject of the flattering offer had, however.

“I’m much obliged,” said he.  “But I couldn’t join this club.  Can’t afford it.”

“You can’t afford not to.  It’s a chance not many young fellows from nowhere get.”

“Perhaps you don’t know what a reporter’s earnings are, Mr. Masters.”

The rest of the group had drifted away, in obedience, Banneker suspected, to some indication given by Masters which he had not perceived.

“You won’t be a reporter long.  Opportunities will open out for a young fellow of your kind.”

“What sort of opportunities?” inquired Banneker curiously.

“Wall Street, for example.”

“I don’t think I’d like the game.  Writing is my line.  I’m going to stick to it.”

“You’re a fool,” barked Masters.

“That is a word I don’t take from anybody,” stated Banneker.

“You don’t take?  Who the—­” The raucous snarl broke into laughter, as the other leaned abruptly forward.  “Banneker,” he said, “have you got me covered?”

Banneker laughed, too.  Despite his brutal assumption of autocracy, it was impossible not to like this man.  “No,” he answered.  “I didn’t expect to be held up here.  So I left my gun.”

“You did a job on that pier,” affirmed the other.  “But you’re a fool just the same—­if you’ll take it with a smile.”