“Miss Joy again!” laughed Loring.  “You only met her Saturday, and I don’t think you’ve thought of another thing since.”

“Gresham and her million,” corrected Johnny, and he started for the door.

“Where are you going—­if anybody should ask for you?” inquired Loring.

“Fourth National.”

“To deposit Gresham’s fifteen thousand?”

“No,” laughed Gamble.  “Polly took that away from me.”

“That’s a good safe place for it,” returned Loring, relieved.

“Safe as the mint,” corroborated Johnny, and hurried out.

As he went up the steps of the Fourth National Bank a pallid-faced young man, with eyebrows, eyelashes and hair so nearly the color of his skin that they were invisible, watched him out of the window of a taxi that had been standing across the street ever since the bank had opened.  As soon as Johnny entered the door the young man gave a direction to the driver, and the taxi hurried away.

President Close was conservatively glad to see Johnny.  He was a crisp-faced man, with an extremely tight-cropped gray mustache; and not a single crease in his countenance was flexible in the slightest degree.  He had an admiration amounting almost to affection for Johnny—­provided the promising young man did not want money.

“Good morning,” he greeted his caller.  “What can we do for you to-day?” And in great haste he mentally reviewed the contents of credit envelope G-237.  That envelope, being devoted to Mr. Gamble, contained a very clear record; so Mr. Close came as near to smiling as those cast-iron creases would allow.

“Want to give the Fourth National as a reference,” returned Johnny cheerfully.

“I see,” assented Mr. Close, immediately ceasing to smile; for now approached the daily agony of life—­the grudging of credit.  “I see; I see.  Do you propose engaging in a new venture?”

“Just as often as I can find one,” stated Johnny briskly.

Mr. Close looked at him with stern disapproval.

“That does not sound like a very stable frame of mind,” he chided.  “What do you propose to do first?”

“A twenty-story hotel.”

“That runs into millions!” gasped Close, and reached out to touch a button upon his desk; but Johnny Gamble stayed that hand.

“You’re after my balance,” he said.  “It’s twelve dollars and thirty-seven cents.”

“Well, you see, Mr. Gamble, under the circumstances—­” hesitated Mr. Close.

“I know,” interrupted the applicant; “you can only say I’m good for twelve-thirty-seven.  I don’t ask you to back me.  If anybody ’phones you, just say I’m a good boy.”

Mr. Close almost smiled again.

“So far as the moral risk is concerned I shall have no hesitation in speaking most highly of you,” he granted.

“And don’t laugh when you say it,” Johnny admonished, smiling cheerfully, for he knew that Close always did better than he promised.  “Tell them this, can’t you?—­I’ve banked with you for five years.  I’ve run about a ton of money through your shop.  I’ve been broke a dozen times and I never left a debt behind me.  I’ve been trusted and I always made good.  I guess you could say all that if you stopped to take a couple of breaths, couldn’t you?”