“You have such a ghastly way of slipping up behind one,” he complained, brushing the shoulder upon which Gresham had laid his hand.

“You’re nervous, Collaton.  I’m not Johnny Gamble,” laughed Gresham.

“Suppose you were!” indignantly retorted Collaton.  “I’m not avoiding Johnny.”  And he studied Gresham furtively.

“The Gamble-Collaton books are.  Do you imagine there are any more outstanding accounts against your firm?”

“How should I know?” Collaton glanced about him uneasily.

“True enough—­how should you?” agreed Gresham soothingly.  “I’d feel rather sorry for Gamble if an old and forgotten note against your firm, upon which a judgment had been quietly secured ‘by default’, should turn up just now.”

“I don’t think one will,” returned Collaton, searching Gresham’s eyes.  “Why?”

“Because he is almost certain to make a deposit in the Fourth National Bank in a short time.”

“That’s a very good reason,” laughed Collaton, now certain of the eyes.

“If that deposit were to be attached,” went on Gresham suavely, “it might embarrass him very much.”  There was a slight pause.”  If you’ll call me up to-night I’ll let you know how much it will be and when he is likely to bank it.”

“Why do you tell me this?” puzzled Collaton.

“Because I want him broke!” explained Gresham, his face suddenly twitching viciously in spite of himself.

Collaton thought it over carefully.

“What’s your telephone number?” he accommodatingly inquired.

Colonel Bouncer, meanwhile, was flattered to have Polly Parsons pause at his seat as she came down the aisle, after an extended passage at arms with Val Russel, and tell him how young he looked.

“Gad, you’d make any man feel young and brisk!” he gallantly declared.

“Wasn’t that Paul Gresham in Mrs. Boyden’s box?”

“Yes; the very Paul,” she assured him, glad that the colonel was making it so easy for her.  “He’s going to give you a new neighbor, Colonel.  He’s just been discussing a deal with Mr. Gamble for the vacant property next to your factory.”

“Bless my soul!” ejaculated the colonel, rising hastily.  “He hasn’t actually sold it, has he?”

“He has given Mr. Gamble an option on it,” Polly was happy to state.

“You don’t say!” exploded the colonel.  “Why, what does Johnny Gamble want with it?”

“He didn’t tell; but I think he’s organizing a shoe-manufacturing company,” lied Polly glibly.

“Goodness me!” muttered the colonel, and, breathing heavily, he cursed his procrastination heartily to himself, threw discretion to the winds and hurried down to the Boyden box just as Gresham returned.  His greeting to the other occupants was but perfunctory, and then he turned to Gresham with:  “You haven’t sold your property adjoining my factory, have you, Gresham?”

“Well, I’ve given Mr. Gamble an option on it,” admitted Gresham reluctantly.