“Take enough while you’re at it!  What do you want it for?”

“Her stack’s that high.”

“She’d never count it.”

“I know; but Aunt Pattie and I would.  I have to have it, Polly.”

“Then you’ll get it,” she resignedly admitted.  “Why, Johnny, I believe you could get Constance, too!” she added with suddenly accelerated belief in him.  “Well, I’m certainly for you.  Tell me, what can I do to help you?”

“Poison Gresham for me.”

“Give me your fifteen cents,” she directed.  “He’s about as popular with her as a flea with a dog; but he goes with the furniture.  He was wished on her by her Aunt Gertrude.”

“Why did her aunt hate her?”

“She hated everybody; so she went in for charity.  She made six wills, each time leaving all her money to a different public institution; but they each one did something she didn’t like before she could die.  The last time she decided to give Constance a chance, made a new will and took sick the same night.  Constance has the interest on her million till she marries Gresham; then she gets it all.  If she marries anybody else before Gresham dies the money goes to a home for blind cats, or something like that.”

“Healthy soul, wasn’t she?” commiserated Johnny.  “But why Gresham?”

“The bug for family.  Aunt Gertrude’s father didn’t make his tobacco-trust money fast enough for her to marry Gresham’s father, who would have been a lord if everybody in England had died.  Constance is to bring aristocracy into the family now.”

“Tell her to tear up that million.  I’ll get her another one,” offered Johnny easily.

“You’ll need some repairs before you start,” she suggested.  “They tell me you’re down and out.”

“Tell them to guess again!” he indignantly retorted.  “I own all the to-morrows in the world.  There’s money in every one of them.”

“I’ve got an awful big bank-account that needs exercise,” she offered.  “Now, look here, Johnny, don’t yell like I’d hit you with a brick.  You told me to help myself once when I needed it, and I did.  You ought to let me get even.  All right, then; be stingy!  Where’s Sammy?” She had been feeling in both sleeves with a trace of annoyance, and now she turned to discover Sammy a few paces back, idly watching a policeman putting an inebriated man off the track.  “Sammy!” she called him sharply.  He came, running and frightened.  “I’ve lost my handkerchief,” she informed him.  “Go get it.”  Sammy smiled gratefully and was gone.

“Where did you find it?” asked Johnny, indicating the departing messenger.  “Follow you home one cold night, or did a friend give it to you?”

“Oh, no,” she said carelessly; “it just sticks around.  I can’t get rid of it, so I’ve trained it to be handy when I need it.”