Jim Guff’s voice cracked as he hastily said: 

“I’ll meet any offer he makes you and tack a five-thousand-dollar bonus to it.”

Johnny called up the De Luxe Apartments.  Company and secured the ear of Mr. Chase.

“I withdraw my offer of two hundred and seventy-five thousand for that river-view property,” he stated.”  What is the best bid you will make me above that figure?”

“I’m not inclined to scramble for it,” immediately claimed Mr. Chase, who was aware at the time that he was telling a point-blank lie.

“Very well, then,” said Johnny, wondering how he was to get a definite figure without committing himself.  “I’ll have to drop you out of my calculations.”

“When must you know?”

“To-morrow morning.”

“You’re bluffing!” charged Mr. Chase scornfully.

“I have two very earnest bidders for the property,” insisted Johnny with dignity—­and completed his bluff, if Chase cared to regard it that way, by hanging up his receiver.

Before he left the office he entered in his books: 

“May 4.  Sold; but I don’t know who to or at what price.  Close to schedule, though.”

He entered the next day in advance: 

“May 5.  The Babies’ Fund Fair—­Holiday.  Nothing doing.”

CHAPTER XII

IN WHICH JOHNNY EVEN DOES BUSINESS AT THE BABIES’ FUND FAIR

“I wish I could write poetry,” regretted Johnny, looking across at Constance Joy in the violet booth.

“Why don’t you try it?” asked Polly Parsons, following his gaze and comprehending his desire perfectly, for she, too, was a rabid Constancite.

“I did,” he confessed with a disappointed laugh.  “I hadn’t the nerve to be mushy enough, though—­and nothing else seems to be real poetry.  I got one line that listened like the goods, but I couldn’t match it up:  ‘As I lie awake and look at the stars—­’ Pretty good start, eh?  How do you find a rhyme for it?”

“You go down through the alphabet,” Polly advised him, rather proud to be able to answer him so promptly.  “Bars, cars, fars, jars—­that way, you know.  How I found out is that Sister Winnie writes so much poetry.”

“She’s a great kid,” laughed Johnny.  “Where is she?”

“Round here some place, giving orders to Sammy Chirp.  Why are you loafing this afternoon?  You’re supposed to be making five thousand dollars an hour, but I don’t see any chance for it here.”

“It’s a holiday,” he retorted.  “You’re loafing yourself.  I see it’s on the program that you’re to sell a quarter’s worth of violets and a smile, for five dollars a throw at the boutonniere booth.  Notice how I said boutonniere?”

“You got it out of a book,” charged Polly disdainfully.  “I called Constance over from the candy booth to take my place because a gray-haired rusher came back seven times to have me pin violets on his coat—­and I couldn’t smile any more.  There he goes now.  That’s his second trip for Constance.”