Colonel Bouncer, laughing
heartily and reaching over to slap Gamble affectionately on the
shoulder. "He's fifteen thousand better off; and I guess he won't
forget that in a hurry."

"I've forgotten it now," asserted Johnny. "Colonel, I want to talk with
you about some stock in a big hotel opposite the new terminal station."

"Bless my soul--NO!" almost shouted the colonel. "I nearly got tangled
up in my friend Courtney's terminal hotel scheme--and I'm scared yet."

"Courtney?" repeated Johnny. "That's the name they gave me at Mallard &
Tyne's office this afternoon. They told me that he has tied up the only
available block the railroad company overlooked."

"Tied it up!" exploded the colonel. "Bless my soul, it has him tied up!
Courtney's company blew so high that none of the pieces has come down
yet. Meantime his enthusiasm is likely to cost him a round two and a
quarter million dollars."

"He must have had a high fever," commented Johnny. "How could a man be
so forgetful of that much money?"

"He thought his friends were game," explained the colonel; "and, in
spite of his long and successful business experience, he over-looked
the difference between a promise and a promissory note. He nailed his
stock subscribers down with hasty conversation only, and then rushed
off and grabbed the six collected parcels of that block, for fear it
might get away before he had his company legally organized."

"And now he can't unspike it," guessed Johnny smilingly. "Watch out,
Colonel!"

There was a lively scramble in the two boxes as the first foul tip of
the season whizzed directly at them. Gamble, who had captained his
village nine, had that ball out of the air and was bowing jovially to
the applause before Gresham had quite succeeded in squeezing himself
down behind the door of the box.

Naturally it was Polly who led the applause; and Constance shocked the
precise Gresham by joining in heartily.

She was looking up at Johnny with sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks
when Gresham came out of his cyclone cellar--and, if he had disliked
Gamble before, now he hated him.

It is a strange feature of the American national game that the more
perfectly it is played the duller it is. This was a pitchers' battle;
and the game droned along, through inning after inning, with seldom
more than three men to bat in each half, while the score board
presented a most appropriate double procession of naughts. Spectators,
warmly praising tha