“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 drove up just then.  In it were sweet-faced Mrs. Parsons--Polly’s mother by adoption—­Polly, Loring and Sammy Chirp, the latter gentleman being laden with the wraps of everybody but Loring.

Just behind the limousine was a taxi.  In it were Aunt Pattie Boyden, Constance Joy and Johnny Gamble.  Gresham, who had held a partial engagement for the evening, went to his club instead.

CHAPTER IX