against
so foolhardy a thing, but caught herself; and, leaning back, she looked
at Johnny Gamble in profile and smiled. There was something fascinating
about the fellow's clear-eyed assurance as he cheerfully answered: "If
you please, Polly."

"It will take you four hundred hours now to make your million," Gresham
advised him, with scarcely concealed contempt.

"I'm no loafer," Gamble declared.

They all laughed at that.

"I beg your pardon," apologized Gresham. "Let's see. How long will it
take you to make your million at the rate of five thousand an hour? How
many hours a day?"

"About seven on regular days; three on Saturdays."

Both the girls were still laughing at the absurdity of it all.

"Counting off for Sundays, you should have your million in about forty
days," persisted Gresham, figuring it with pencil and paper.

Johnny studied the problem carefully.

"All right; I'll do it," he announced, and looked at his watch.

"Bravo!" applauded Constance. "If you could succeed in that you would
display a force which nothing could resist."

Gresham looked at her with a quick frown.

"And if he failed he would display a presumption which nothing could
forgive," he paraphrased. "If it's not asking too much, Mr. Gamble, I'm
curious to know how you propose to accumulate your million." And he
smiled across at Miss Joy, who turned to Gamble, waiting interestedly
for his reply.

"Work a lot of neglected stunts. I never wanted to make a million till
now. I know how, though. I think I'll start with real estate." And he
watched Gresham narrowly.

"That's a dismal enough opening," announced Gresham with a pained
expression. "It is impossible to secure a decent price for property,
especially when you want to sell it."

"If you want to get rid of some I'll buy it," offered Gamble promptly.

"I want cash." And again Gresham smiled over at Constance. The slight
trace of a frown flitted across her brow. She had always thought of
Gresham as a man of perfect breeding.

"Name the right figure. I'll make a deal with you on the spot."

"This is scarcely the place for business," Gresham reproved him.

"I beg pardon," Gamble quickly said, and looked at Constance, a trifle
abashed.

"Please go ahead," that young lady urged. "This is more fun than the
races."

"Thanks." He smiled gratefully, "Now, Gresham, let's get down to
statistics. These are working hours. Here's twenty-five hundred."

"What for?" asked Gresham,