“A very reliable young man, I believe,” responded Mr. Close, carefully testing an ink-eaten steel pen point to see if it was really time for it to be thrown away.  “Of course I could not state Mr. Gamble to be financially responsible, but personally I would trust him.  I would not urge or even recommend any one to take part in his projects; but personally I feel quite safe in investing with him, though I would not care to have that fact generally known, because of the influence it might have.  Perhaps you had better see some of the other subscribers.”

“No, I’ve seen enough,” announced Mr. Washer.  “Thanks!” and he dashed out of the door.

Ten minutes later he was in Loring’s office again.

“Now, name your bottom price for that property,” he ordered.

“Two million seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” obliged Johnny with careful emphasis on each word.

“It’s too much money.”

“Don’t buy it, then,” advised Johnny, smiling quite cheerfully.

“Come on; let’s close it up,” offered Washer resignedly.  “I might have to pay more if I waited.”

“All right,” said Johnny.  “It’s a bargain, then?”

“It’s a bargain—­confound it!” agreed Mr. Washer quite affably, now that the struggle was over.  “Where do we go?”

“To Mallard Tyne, the six original owners and myself will all take a piece of your two and three-quarter millions.”

“I ought to take a body-guard,” grinned Washer; “but I’ll chance it.  Come on.”

While the foregoing was in progress Constance Joy was entertaining Paul Gresham, who had the effrontery to drop in for lunch.  Of course the conversation turned to Johnny Gamble.  Neither of them could avoid it.  They had reached the point where Gresham was angry and Constance was enjoying herself.

“I have great faith in him,” she was saying.  “He has a wonderful project under way just now.”

“And he doesn’t care who suffers by it,” charged Gresham, furious that she should be so well-informed.  “You’ll see that he’ll involve Courtney’s property with some of his old debts.”

Constance’s eyes widened.

“Do you think so?” she inquired as quietly as possible.

“Of course he will.  His creditors are certain to take advantage of this immediately.  I warned Courtney.”

She hastily arose and went into the hall.

“Oh, Aunt Pattie!” she called up the stairs.  “Mr. Gresham is here.”  Then to Gresham:  “You’ll excuse me for a little while, won’t you?  Aunt Pattie is coming down.”

Five minutes after Johnny and Mr. Washer had gone, Constance Joy came into Johnny’s office with carefully concealed timidity.  Her manner was coldly gracious and self-possessed, and her toilet was perfect; but she carried one ripped glove.

“Is Mr. Loring in?” she asked with perfect assurance and also with suddenly accelerated dignity; for the stenographer was really quite neat-looking—­not pretty, you know, but neat.