“Constance showed me that schedule last night, Johnny,” rattled Polly.  “You ought to see it, Loring.  On Wednesday, at four o’clock, he was exactly even with it; five hundred thousand dollars to the good.”

“I know,” laughed Loring, “and he’ll beat his schedule if the Wobbleses will only hold steady for ten minutes.”

“You don’t mean to say that a Wobbles could be useful!” protested Polly.

“Half a million dollars’ worth,” Loring informed her; then he drew his chair closer and lowered his voice.  “It’s a funny story, Polly.  Two weeks ago Johnny took Courtney and Close and Washer and Colonel Bouncer up to the Bronx in my machine and arranged to sell them a subdivision for three and a half million dollars.”

“Help!” gasped Polly.  “Burglar!”

“They’ll double their money,” asserted Johnny indignantly.  “Fanciest neglected opportunity within a gallon of gasolene from Forty-second Street.”

“Trouble is, Johnny didn’t own it and doesn’t yet,” laughed Loring.  “He’s been trying to buy it from the Wobbleses ever since he arranged to sell it.”

“He’ll get it,” decided Polly confidently.

“Will they agree when they get together?” Loring worried.  “Individually each one needs the money, and each one is satisfied with Johnny’s offer of three million cash.”

“Don’t say another word,” ordered Polly.  “I have to figure this out.  Why, Johnny, if you carry this through it will finish your million, and this is only the thirteenth of May.  That’s going some!  You weren’t supposed to have it till the thirty-first.  Polly’s proud of you!”

“I don’t think you get the joke of this yet, though, Polly,” Loring went on.  “The Wobbleses don’t know that Johnny had already arranged to sell their land, and the subdivision company doesn’t know that the beautiful Bronx tract is the Wobbles estate.  In the meantime both parties are here, and I’m lurking behind the scenery with all the necessary papers ready to sign, seal and deliver.”

“Hush!” commanded Polly; “I’m getting excited.  It sounds like the finish of the third act.  Oh, lookee!  Who’s the graceful party with Gresham?”

Both Johnny and Loring glanced up at a tall, suave, easy-moving gentleman, whose clothing fitted him like a matinee idol’s, whose closely trimmed beard would have served as a model for the nobility anywhere, and whose smile was sickening sweet.

“Eugene Wobbles’ friend, Birchard,” stated Johnny, who kept himself well posted on Wobbles affairs.  “He’s always either with Gresham or a Wobbles, and he travels for a living, I believe.”  And Johnny suddenly rose.

Coming from the direction of the ravine were Constance and Cecil, Winnie and Sammy, and passing Gresham and Birchard with the nod of compulsion Johnny walked carelessly on to meet the quartet.

“Good morning, Cecil,” he observed.  “Your brothers are about to hold a meeting in the east loggia, and I think they’re looking for you.”