Johnny's Baltimore straw hat came off with a jerk.
"Out after the breakfast rolls?" he demanded as he shook hands with them quite gladly.
"No, indeed; hunting a job," responded Polly. "This machine and the services of its chauffeur and messenger girl are for rent to you only, for the day, at the price of a nice party when you get that million. We have to be in on the excitement."
"Hotel Midas," Johnny crisply directed, and jumped into the tonneau, whereupon the chauffeur touched one finger to her bonnet, and the machine leaped forward.
"You're lazy," chided Constance. "We've been waiting twenty minutes. We were afraid you might be gone, but they told us that you had not yet come down."
"If I'd known you were coming I'd have been at the curb before daybreak," grinned Johnny. "You're in some rush this morning."
"There must be some rushing if you have that million dollars by four o'clock," laughed Constance. "Polly and I want you to have it."
"You're right that I'll have to go some," he admitted.
"Excuse the chauffeur for interrupting your conversation," protested Polly, turning round and deftly missing a venturesome banana cart; "but you grabbed off half a million of it on a holiday."
"It was twelve-thirty this morning when we took Gresham," claimed Johnny. "This is a working-day."
"Hotel Midas," announced the chauffeur, pulling up to that flamboyant new hostelry with a flourish.
Johnny hurried in to the desk, where Mr. Boise had already left word that Mr. Gamble should be shown right up. He found that fatigue- proof old Westerner shining from his morning ablutions, as neat as a pin from head to foot, and smoking his after-breakfast cigar in a parlor which had not so much as a tidy displaced. His eyes twinkled the moment he saw Johnny.
"I suppose you still have a disinterested anxiety to have me adopt the Sage City and Salt Pool route?" he laughed.
"I'm still anxious about it," amended Johnny, refusing to smile at his own evasion of the disinterestedness. "I brought you a wad of reports and things to show you how good that territory is. You don't know what a rich pay-streak you'd open up in that part of the Sancho Hills Basin."
Mr. Boise laughed with keen enjoyment.
"I don't think I need to wade through that stuff, Johnny," he admitted, having picked up from Courtney the habit of calling young Gamble by his first name. "To tell you the truth, I sent a wireless telegram to my chief engineer yesterday afternoon, off Courtney's yacht when we connected with the Taft, and this morning I have a five-hundred-word night lettergram from him, telling me that after a thorough investigation of the situation he finds that the Sage City and the Lariat Center routes are so evenly balanced in advantage that a choice of them is really only a matter of sentiment."
Johnny paused awkwardly, stumped for the first time in his life.
"I don't know how to make that kind of an argument," he confessed, to the great enjoyment of Boise.
"It is rather difficult," admitted that solidly constructed railroad president; "particularly since I personally favor the Lariat Center route."
Johnny again felt very awkward.
"Can't we put this on some sort of a business basis?" he implored.
"I don't think so," returned Mr. Boise with a cheerful smile. "You probably couldn't influence me in the least; but that charming young lady who was with you yesterday afternoon—your sister or something, I believe, wasn't it—she might."
Johnny stiffened.
"Then we don't want it," he quietly decided, and took his hat.
"That's the stuff!" yelled Boise in delight. "You belong out West! Well, Johnny, I'm afraid you'll have to have it as a matter of sentiment, and partly on the charming young lady's account, whether you like it or not. Now what have you to say about it, you young bantam?"
"Much obliged," laughed Johnny, recovering from his huff in a hurry. "I thank you for both of us."
"Don't mention it," replied Boise easily, and chuckling in a way that did him good. "Give my very warmest regards to the young lady in question."
"Would you care to come down-stairs and give them to her yourself?" invited Johnny, a trifle ashamed that he had resented the quite evidently sincere admiration of Boise for both Constance and himself.
"So early in the morning?" laughed Boise, putting on his sombrero with alacrity. "It must be serious," and, clapping Johnny heartily on the shoulder with a hand which in its lightest touch came down with the force of a mallet, he led the way to the elevator.
At the curb Mr. Boise, who was also confronting a busy day, delighted both the girls and Johnny by the sort of well-wishes that a real man can make people believe, and when they drove away Constance was blushing and Polly was actually threatening to adopt him.
The next stop was at Collaton's, where Johnny bought from that nonchalantly pleased young man his interest in the Gamble-Collaton Irrigation Company for five thousand dollars, A check for which amount he borrowed from Polly while Collaton was signing the transfer.
Next he went to the offices of the Western Developing Company, and the president of that extensive concern waved him away with both hands.
"If you've come about that Sancho Hills Basin land of yours, talk to me about it in a theater lobby sometime," Washburn warned Johnny in advance. "We discuss nothing but real business up here."
"I'll bet you five thousand acres of the land that this is real business," Johnny offered. "The S. W. P. has just secured control of the B. F. N. W., and intends to run the main line to Puget Sound right square through the middle of my land. Now are you busy?"
"Sit down and have a cigar," invited Washburn, and slammed a call- bell. "Billy," he told a boy, "if Mr. Rothberg comes in on that appointment tell him I'll see him in a few minutes. Now, Johnny, how do I know that the S. W. P. will actually build that connecting link through your land?"
"Ask Boise," directed Johnny confidently. "He's at the Hotel Midas, and he has appointments in his room for the most of the morning."
"Has that grasping old monopolist gumshoed into town again?" inquired Washburn, and promptly ordered his secretary to get Boise on the telephone. "How much do you want for that land?" he asked while he waited.
"Half a million dollars," stated Johnny. "No, I mean five hundred and ten thousand," he hastily corrected, remembering his five- thousand-dollar debt to Polly, and planning a five-thousand-dollar betrothal blow-out that should be a function worth while.
"Half a million's a lot of money," Washburn soberly objected.
"I said half a million and ten thousand, spot cash and to-day," Johnny carefully corrected.
"You're joking."
"Am I smiling?" demanded Johnny. "Washburn, if I can't get that odd ten thousand I'm in no hurry to sell."
Washburn's bell rang, but he went into the next room to talk to Boise. He came back resigned.
"We'll need a few days for the formalities," he suggested.
"You don't need a minute," denied Johnny. "You looked up the title weeks ago, and you know it's all right. The formalities can be concluded in thirty minutes if you'll send your attorney down with me."
"But what's the rush?" demanded Washburn, averse to paying out cash with this speed.
"I want the money," explained Johnny.
"All right," gave in Washburn. "You may see Jackson at two o'clock and wind up the business. He'll hand you a check."
"For five hundred and ten thousand?" inquired Johnny with proper caution.
"For five hundred and ten thousand," repeated Washburn. "It's a fool-sounding amount, but Boise said that if I wouldn't pay it he would."
"May I speak to Boise a minute?" asked Johnny.
"This deal's closed," hastily cautioned Washburn with his hand on the telephone.
"Of course it's closed," acknowledged Johnny. "I want to invite Boise to a party."
CHAPTER XXV. IN WHICH JOHNNY KEEPS ON DOING BUSINESS TILL THE CLOCK STRIKES FOUR
The hired auto had plenty to do. It carried Johnny to court, wher
e he made a deposition against Gresham; it carried him to the office of the Amalgamated Steel Company, where he had the bonds that Gresham had transferred to him registered in his own name; it carried him to the appointment with Washburn's lawyer, who destroyed a full hour and a half of palpitating time; and it carried all of them to Loring's office, into which they burst triumphantly at twenty minutes of four.
At that hour Loring's office was crowded with loafers, the same being Colonel Bouncer, Morton Washer, Joe Close, Ben Courtney, Val Russel and Bruce Townley.
"This being a sporting event of some note, I gathered up a nice little bunch of sports to see the finish," explained Val Russel with a graceful bow. "Loring passed me the word that he expected you to nose under the wire in record time. You must show us the million dollars you were to have by four P. M., on Wednesday, May thirty- first."
"I don't have to flash it for twenty minutes," claimed Johnny happily. "At that hour I will show you a certificate of deposit on Joe Close's bank for half a million in bonds, and a sure-enough check for five hundred and ten thousand dollars."
"No fair!" objected Val. "You were to have only an even million, and you've shot ten thousand over the mark."
"I owe Polly five thousand," explained Johnny as he hung his hat on a hook and pushed back his sleeves, "and I provided for the other five thousand in order to give a party. May I wash my face while I'm waiting for the time to be up?"
Courtney noticed that Constance had moved over toward the rather inadequately screened basin in the corner in unconscious accompaniment of Johnny.
"We'll excuse you if you'll answer one question," Courtney ventured with twinkling eyes. "It has been generally understood among your friends that when you really secured your million dollars—"
"That will do," interrupted Polly Parsons. "You interfered once before with Johnny's love affairs—Well, I'm not giving anything away!" she hotly retorted to a blazing glance from Constance.
The door opened and a boy brought in a package for Mr. Gamble. Loring, guessing the contents from its size, tore off the wrapper.
"Collaton sticks, anyhow, Johnny," he called. "Here are the lost books."
"Cheap at half the price," laughed Johnny as he splashed in the water. "By the way, Loring, you never did tell me how you steered off that first bogus attachment for fifteen thousand."
Constance and Loring looked at each other in dismay.
"I'll bring in a bill for that after four o'clock," promised Loring, laughing as lightly as he could.
"After four," repeated Johnny, coming from behind the screen with a towel in his hands. "You didn't pay it, did you?"
"That's an entirely separate deal," evaded Loring.
"Where did you get the money?" demanded Johnny, and scrutinizing the confused face of Constance, he knew.
Johnny smiled gratefully at her and patted her on the shoulder as he walked quietly behind the screen. Great Scott! He glanced over the screen at the clock. Where could he make ten thousand dollars in fifteen minutes? He had to have that million and it must be clear! He reached for a comb with one hand and for his hat with the other.
Winnie and Sammy Chirp rushed into the office—Winnie in a bewildering new outfit of pure white, beaming all over with importance, and Sammy smiling as he had never smiled before.
"Where on earth have you been?" demanded Polly. "I've been telephoning for you all day."
"Well," explained Winnie volubly, "I took a notion to marry Sammy. I just thought that if I mentioned it to you you'd want me to wait a while, and when it did happen it would be a regular fussy affair."
"Honestly, child, I don't know whether to scold you or kiss you," broke in Polly. "Sammy, come here."
Sammy came, not only obediently but humbly, though he never ceased to smile; and he looked her squarely in the eyes.
Polly surveyed him long and earnestly.
"I guess it's the best thing that could have happened to both of you, but I'll have a dreadful time looking after such a pair!"
"I'll look after my husband myself, if you please!" indignantly protested Winnie.
Everybody laughed, and Polly started the popular ceremony of kissing the bride.
Johnny Gamble came thoughtfully from behind the screen. He had not heard the commotion, nor was he even now aware that Winnie and Sammy had been added to the party. He had a broken comb in his hand.
"Bruce," said he, looking steadfastly at the comb, "did you ever feel the need of a comb of your own in a public wash room?"
"I've sent a boy six blocks to buy one," responded Bruce with a surge of recurrent indignation.
"It's the curse of the nation," Val earnestly assured him. "You are ready for the theater. You have fifteen minutes to spare. You drop into a gilded palace of crime to drink a highball. In your earnestness you muss your hair. You retire to primp. A comb hangs before you, with one serviceable tooth. A brush with eight bristles hangs by its side. You smooth your hair with your towel and go away saddened for ever!"
"The trouble is," said Colonel Bouncer, "that every man thinks he's going to carry a neat little pocket-comb in a neat little case, and he buys dozens of them; but he never has one with him."
"Thanks," acknowledged Johnny. "Now suppose you could step into any barber shop, theater, hotel, saloon or depot wash room, drop a nickel in a slot and take out a nice papier-mache comb, paraffined and medicated and sealed in an oiled-paper wrapper. Would you do it?"
"Just as fast as I could push the button," agreed Bruce with enthusiasm.
"Well, I've just invented that comb," explained Johnny, smiling. "Do you think there would be a good business in manufacturing it?"
Courtney, who had been considering the matter gravely, now nodded his head emphatically.
"There's a handsome fortune in it," he declared. "It is one of those little things of which there are enormous quantities used and thrown away each day. If you want to organize a company to put it on the market, Johnny, I'll take any amount of stock you think proper—not only for the investment, but for the pure philanthropy of it."
"Also for the pure selfishness of it," laughed Joe Close. "Courtney wants to be sure to find a private comb in every public wash room."
"When you get your factory going I wish you'd send a salesman to my head supply man," requested Mort Washer. "I'll buy them by the ton, and every guest who comes into one of my hotels will find a fresh comb in an aseptic wrapper by the side of his individual soap."
"That will be up to Bruce," Johnny informed him. "Bruce intends to manufacture this device at his papier-mache factory."
"Thanks," acknowledged Bruce. "I hadn't contemplated enlarging the factory, but I see I shall need to."
"Johnny isn't kidding, Bruce," Val shrewdly warned him.
"Neither am I," maintained Bruce stoutly. "I'll have that comb on the market so quickly that you can almost afford to wait for it. Royalty, Johnny?"
"No," denied Johnny promptly. "I'll sell it to you outright for ten thousand dollars, me to sign any sort of papers you need and you to pay the patent lawyer."
"I'd be robbing you," protested Bruce. "I should think you'd want to retain an interest in the manufacture, or at least a royalty. There'd be a lot more money in it for you."
"Wait just a minute," directed Loring, sitting down at his typewriting machine from which the neat operator had fled at the very beginning of the social invasion.
For the next two or three minutes the rapidfire click of the keys under Loring's practiced fingers drowned all other sound, and then he jerked off a paper.
"Now, Johnny, you sign this," he ordered. "It is a rather legal transfer, in line with your other dubious operations of the day, of all your rights in the Johnny Gamble comb to one Bruce Townley, here present. Bruce, give Johnny your check for the ten thousand dollars."
"All right, if you fellows are bound to have it that way," agreed Bruce. "I haven't a check-book with me, Johnny, but I'll send it up to you from the office to-morrow."
"But, Br
uce, that won't do!" hastily urged Constance. "He must have the check right now. Don't you see he only has a million and ten thousand dollars? He owes Polly five thousand and me fifteen thousand, and if you give him ten thousand dollars for his invention he'll have a million and how much? I'm all mixed up! But I do know this: that he'll have his million dollars left exactly to the cent!"
"I—I see," stuttered Bruce in a fever of anxiety to help Johnny achieve his million in the specified time. "I—I'm sorry I haven't my check-book," and he looked about him hopelessly.
Just in front of his chest was suspended a check, already made out in favor of Johnny Gamble, in the amount of ten thousand dollars, properly dated and lacking only Bruce's signature. It was smiling Sammy Chirp who had been quietly thoughtful enough to remember that he and Bruce did business at the same bank.
"The nation is saved!" cheered Val Russel as Bruce dropped down at Loring's desk. Johnny was already busy writing.
"Do hurry!" urged Constance. "It's two minutes of four!"
Johnny jumped up with two checks on the First National Bank and passed one to Constance and one to Polly.
"Tough luck!" suddenly commented Val Russel. "It just occurs to me that our friend Johnny will have to break into his million to pay for his blow-out."
"I'm glad of it," snapped Morton Washer. "He took an eighth of that million out of my pocket. He can afford to give a dinner, with salted almonds and real imported champagne at every plate."
"And a glass-scratching diamond souvenir from the million-dollar bride," added Polly with a wicked glance at Constance.
"Are we positive that he has won a bride?" demanded Courtney, gathering courage from the fact that Polly was not crushed.
"I don't know myself," boasted Johnny with an assumption of masculine masterfulness which he knew he could never maintain. "Will you marry me, Constance?"
"I decline to discuss that in public," declared Constance with well- feigned haughtiness.
Johnny kissed her, anyhow, and the mob cheered.
"Listen!" ordered Constance.
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