“And owe the rest of it to my friends?” demanded Johnny.  “Not any.  I’ll pay over the two and a half million I have on hand, complete the deal and stand the loss myself.  I’ll be broke, but I won’t owe anybody.”

Loring looked at him with sudden pity.  “You’ll have to take a fresh start,” he advised as lightly as possible, since one did not like to be caught expressing pity to Johnny.  “You have two days left.”

“Guess again!” directed Johnny.  “One of them’s a holiday—­Decoration Day—­to-morrow.”

“Tough luck, old man!” said Loring.

“I didn’t care for the million, Loring,” declared Johnny wearily, driven for the first time to an open confession.

“I know,” agreed Loring gently, still suffering from his own hurt.  “It was Constance.  She may not be so keen for that million as you think.”

Johnny shook his head sadly.

“I know she isn’t,” he admitted.  “That’s the hard part of it.  She didn’t seem to care when I had it—­not for it or for me.  Up to that time I thought there was a chance.  Now the loss of this money doesn’t really hurt.  What good would a million dollars do me?”

They had reached the office by this time and made themselves busy with the final papers.  Presently came Gresham and all the Wobbleses, concluded their business, and took their two and a half million dollars and happily departed.

Loring glared after Gresham in a fury of anger.  He had seen that gentleman, before he left, slip a square white card under the papers on Johnny’s desk; and, though he did not conjecture what the card might be, he knew from the curl of Gresham’s lips that it meant some covert trick or insult.  Turning, he was about indignantly to call Johnny’s attention to the circumstance when the beaming expression upon his friend’s face stopped him, and sealed any explanation that might have risen to his lips.  Johnny had found the card and was reading it with glistening eyes.

“Constance Joy!” he said delightedly.  “She must have called.”  He was lost in pleasant thought for a moment or so and then he looked eagerly up at Loring with:  “I wonder if there isn’t some way, besides Birchard’s, that a fellow could make a million dollars in a day!”

CHAPTER XXI

In which Constance avails herself of woman’s privilege to change her mind

Polly Parsons burst into the boudoir of Constance Joy, every feather on her lavender hat aquiver with indignation.  “What do you think!” she demanded.  “Johnny Gamble’s lost his million dollars!”

Constance, nursing a pale-faced headache, had been reclining on the couch at the side of a bouquet of roses four feet across; but now she sat straight up and smiled, and the sparkle which had been absent for days came back into her eyes.

“No!” she exclaimed.  “Really, has he?”