ey. "It seems that he
met them, however."

"Of course he did!" snorted the colonel.

"I hadn't intended to make the matter public property," stated Gresham
with an uncomfortable feeling that he was combating an unassailable and
unaccountable prejudice.

"Bless my soul, you're succeeding mighty well!" blurted the colonel.
"Now, tell us all you know about my friend Gamble. Out with it!"

"I beg you to understand, Mr. Courtney, that I am inspired by a purely
friendly interest," insisted Gresham with very stiff dignity. "I
thought it might be of value for you to know--if you were not already
informed--that an attachment for fifty thousand dollars upon Mr. Gamble
was laid against your Terminal Hotel property this afternoon."

Mr. Courtney paused to consider.

"At what time was this attachment issued?"

"At three-thirty, I was informed."

Mr. Courtney's reception of that important bit of news was rather
unusual, in consideration of its gravity. He threw back his head and
laughed; he turned to the colonel and, putting his hand upon his old
friend's shoulder, laughed again; he put his other hand upon Gresham's
shoulder and laughed more. The colonel was a slower thinker. He looked
painfully puzzled for a moment--then suddenly it dawned upon him, and
he laughed uproariously; he punched his old friend Courtney in the ribs
and laughed more uproariously; he punched Gresham in the ribs and
laughed most uproariously.

"Why, bless my heart, boy!" he explained for Courtney. "At two-thirty,
neither Courtney nor Johnny Gamble owned a penny's worth of interest in
the Terminal Hotel site, if that's the property you mean--and of course
you do."

"No," laughed Courtney. "At that hour we sold it outright to Morton
Washer for a cool half-million profit, which my friend Johnny and I
divide equally. I saw him make the entry in his book. He has
twenty-four hours in which to loaf on that remarkable schedule of his.
Johnny Gamble is a wonderful young man!"

"Who's that's such a wonderful young man?" snapped a jerky little
voice. "Johnny Gamble? You bet he is! He skinned me!"

Turning, Courtney grasped the hands of lean little Morton Washer and of
wiry-faced Joe Close.

"We're all here now except the youngsters and the ladies," said
Courtney. "Possibly they're inside. Coming in, Gresham?"

"No, I think not," announced Gresham, sickly. "Who's giving the party?"

"Johnny Gamble," snapped Washer. "It's in honor of me!"

A limousine