Five Thousand an Hour | Page 5

advised Loring, and they both turned in the direction of the betting shed. "The price will probably be short; but I look on it as an investment."
"You can't invest a hundred dollars," argued Gamble.
"You don't mean to say that a hundred's all you have in the world!" returned Loring. "I thought you'd saved a good deal more than that out of the wreck."
"I did; but my brother was broke," replied Gamble carelessly, and stopped in front of a blackboard. The price on Nautchautauk was one and a half to two. "I don't want a bet," he remarked, shaking his head at the board; "I need an accident. I wonder if that goat Angora has horns and a beard?"
"People try fifty-to-one shots just before they cut their throats," warned Loring.
"Hide my safety-razor then. Angora carries my hundred. I'll feed a sawbuck apiece to ten books."
Loring lost sight of him for a few moments, but found him outside, by and by, in conversation with "Colonel" Bouncer, a heavily-jowled man with grizzled hair and very friendly eyes which, however, could look quite cold enough on occasion. The colonel was staring up at the box occupied by the young lady to whom Loring had bowed.
"Bless my soul, I'm getting near-sighted!" he was saying as Loring joined them. "Isn't that Paul Gresham up there with Miss Joy?"
"Is that her name?" asked Gamble eagerly. "Well, I believe it."
The colonel turned from him impatiently.
"You know Gresham, don't you, Loring? Is that he up there in that box?"
"That is Saint Paul all right," answered Loring with a smile, as he glanced up at the prim and precise Gresham, who had now succeeded in fencing Miss Joy in a corner, away from the other young men.
"Thanks," said the colonel, and walked away abstractedly, his eyes still turning in the direction of the box, although he did not even start to go up into the grandstand.
"The colonel is still bargain-hunting," observed Loring with a laugh. "His shoe-manufacturing business has increased to the point that he must have more space--and he must have it at once. The only available ground is Gresham's adjoining property, which Gresham long ago gave up trying to sell him. The colonel is crazy to buy it now, but he's afraid to let Gresham know he must have it, for fear Saint Paul will run up the price on him. In consequence, he trails the man round like a love-sick boy after an actress. When he finds Gresham he only looks at him--and goes away. That's only half of the laugh, however. Gresham wants to sell as badly as the colonel wants to buy, but he doesn't know where to find a fancy market. Queer case, isn't it?"
"Yes," replied Gamble. "Who's Miss Joy?"
"For heaven's sake, Johnny, don't say you're hit too--even at long distance!"
"Hit!" repeated Gamble--"I'm flattened out. I'm no lady-fusser, Ashley, but I'm going to buy a new necktie."
"You don't even know she's rich, do you?" asked Loring, looking at him with a curious smile.
"Of course I do!" asserted Johnny. "I saw her eyes. Who is she?"
"That's Miss Constance Joy--an orphan worth an exact million dollars; although I believe there is some sort of a string to it," Loring told him. "She lives with her aunt, who is Mrs. Pattie Boyden, and she's so pretty that even women forgive her. Anything else you want to know?"
"Yes. Why do I want to bite Paul Gresham?"
"Hush!" admonished Loring. "He is the remnant of one of our very best imported families, and he needs the money. He sells a piece of father's property every year, and he haunts Miss Joy like a pestilence. I think he's mixed up in her million some way or other. Aunt Pattie approves of him very much; she is strong for family."
"I'll bite him yet," decided Gamble. "Say, Loring, how am I going to make a stringless million?"
"If I knew that, I wouldn't be your lawyer," declared Loring. "Excuse me, Johnny; there's a client of mine."
CHAPTER II
IN WHICH STRANGERS BECOME OLD FRIENDS

Into the box where Miss Constance Joy--slender and dark and tall-- entertained her bevy of admirers, there swished a violently-gowned young woman of buxom build and hearty manner, attended by a young man who wore a hundred-dollar suit and smiled feebly whenever he caught an eye. In his right hand he carried Miss Polly Parsons' gloves and parasol; in his left, her race-card and hand-bag. Round his shoulders swung her field-glasses; from his right pocket protruded her fan and from his left her auto veil. She carried her own vanity box.
"If you aren't the darlingest thing in the world!" she greeted Miss Joy, whose face had lighted with a smile of both amusement and pleasure. "You certainly are some Con! Every time I see you in a new gown I change my dressmaker.