CHAPTER XXV

IN WHICH JOHNNY KEEPS ON DOING BUSINESS TILL THE CLOCK STRIKES FOUR

The hired auto had plenty to do. It carried Johnny to court, where he made a deposition against Gresham; it carried him to the office of the Amalgamated Steel Company, where he had the bonds that Gresham had transferred to him registered in his own name; it carried him to the appointment with Washburn's lawyer, who destroyed a full hour and a half of palpitating time; and it carried all of them to Loring's office, into which they burst triumphantly at twenty minutes of four.

At that hour Loring's office was crowded with loafers, the same being Colonel Bouncer, Morton Washer, Joe Close, Ben Courtney, Val Russel and Bruce Townley.

"This being a sporting event of some note, I gathered up a nice little bunch of sports to see the finish," explained Val Russel with a graceful bow. "Loring pa.s.sed me the word that he expected you to nose under the wire in record time. You must show us the million dollars you were to have by four P. M., on Wednesday, May thirty-first."

"I don't have to flash it for twenty minutes," claimed Johnny happily.

"At that hour I will show you a certificate of deposit on Joe Close's bank for half a million in bonds, and a sure-enough check for five hundred and ten thousand dollars."

"No fair!" objected Val. "You were to have only an even million, and you've shot ten thousand over the mark."

"I owe Polly five thousand," explained Johnny as he hung his hat on a hook and pushed back his sleeves, "and I provided for the other five thousand in order to give a party. May I wash my face while I'm waiting for the time to be up?"

Courtney noticed that Constance had moved over toward the rather inadequately screened basin in the corner in unconscious accompaniment of Johnny.

"We'll excuse you if you'll answer one question," Courtney ventured with twinkling eyes. "It has been generally understood among your friends that when you really secured your million dollars--"

"That will do," interrupted Polly Parsons. "You interfered once before with Johnny's love affairs--Well, I'm not giving anything away!" she hotly retorted to a blazing glance from Constance.

The door opened and a boy brought in a package for Mr. Gamble. Loring, guessing the contents from its size, tore off the wrapper.

"Collaton sticks, anyhow, Johnny," he called. "Here are the lost books."

"Cheap at half the price," laughed Johnny as he splashed in the water.

"By the way, Loring, you never did tell me how you steered off that first bogus attachment for fifteen thousand."

Constance and Loring looked at each other in dismay.

"I'll bring in a bill for that after four o'clock," promised Loring, laughing as lightly as he could.

"After four," repeated Johnny, coming from behind the screen with a towel in his hands. "You didn't pay it, did you?"

"That's an entirely separate deal," evaded Loring.

"Where did you get the money?" demanded Johnny, and scrutinizing the confused face of Constance, he knew.

Johnny smiled gratefully at her and patted her on the shoulder as he walked quietly behind the screen. Great Scott! He glanced over the screen at the clock. Where could he make ten thousand dollars in fifteen minutes? He had to have that million and it must be clear! He reached for a comb with one hand and for his hat with the other.

Winnie and Sammy Chirp rushed into the office--Winnie in a bewildering new outfit of pure white, beaming all over with importance, and Sammy smiling as he had never smiled before.

"Where on earth have you been?" demanded Polly. "I've been telephoning for you all day."

"Well," explained Winnie volubly, "I took a notion to marry Sammy. I just thought that if I mentioned it to you you'd want me to wait a while, and when it did happen it would be a regular fussy affair."

"Honestly, child, I don't know whether to scold you or kiss you," broke in Polly. "Sammy, come here."

Sammy came, not only obediently but humbly, though he never ceased to smile; and he looked her squarely in the eyes.

Polly surveyed him long and earnestly.

"I guess it's the best thing that could have happened to both of you, but I'll have a dreadful time looking after such a pair!"

"I'll look after my husband myself, if you please!" indignantly protested Winnie.

Everybody laughed, and Polly started the popular ceremony of kissing the bride.

Johnny Gamble came thoughtfully from behind the screen. He had not heard the commotion, nor was he even now aware that Winnie and Sammy had been added to the party. He had a broken comb in his hand.

"Bruce," said he, looking steadfastly at the comb, "did you ever feel the need of a comb of your own in a public wash room?"

"I've sent a boy six blocks to buy one," responded Bruce with a surge of recurrent indignation.

"It's the curse of the nation," Val earnestly a.s.sured him. "You are ready for the theater. You have fifteen minutes to spare. You drop into a gilded palace of crime to drink a highball. In your earnestness you muss your hair. You retire to primp. A comb hangs before you, with one serviceable tooth. A brush with eight bristles hangs by its side. You smooth your hair with your towel and go away saddened for ever!"

"The trouble is," said Colonel Bouncer, "that every man thinks he's going to carry a neat little pocket-comb in a neat little case, and he buys dozens of them; but he never has one with him."

"Thanks," acknowledged Johnny. "Now suppose you could step into any barber shop, theater, hotel, saloon or depot wash room, drop a nickel in a slot and take out a nice papier-mache comb, paraffined and medicated and sealed in an oiled-paper wrapper. Would you do it?"

"Just as fast as I could push the b.u.t.ton," agreed Bruce with enthusiasm.

"Well, I've just invented that comb," explained Johnny, smiling. "Do you think there would be a good business in manufacturing it?"

Courtney, who had been considering the matter gravely, now nodded his head emphatically.

"There's a handsome fortune in it," he declared. "It is one of those little things of which there are enormous quant.i.ties used and thrown away each day. If you want to organize a company to put it on the market, Johnny, I'll take any amount of stock you think proper--not only for the investment, but for the pure philanthropy of it."

"Also for the pure selfishness of it," laughed Joe Close. "Courtney wants to be sure to find a private comb in every public wash room."

"When you get your factory going I wish you'd send a salesman to my head supply man," requested Mort Washer. "I'll buy them by the ton, and every guest who comes into one of my hotels will find a fresh comb in an aseptic wrapper by the side of his individual soap."

"That will be up to Bruce," Johnny informed him. "Bruce intends to manufacture this device at his papier-mache factory."

"Thanks," acknowledged Bruce. "I hadn't contemplated enlarging the factory, but I see I shall need to."

"Johnny isn't kidding, Bruce," Val shrewdly warned him.

"Neither am I," maintained Bruce stoutly. "I'll have that comb on the market so quickly that you can almost afford to wait for it. Royalty, Johnny?"

"No," denied Johnny promptly. "I'll sell it to you outright for ten thousand dollars, me to sign any sort of papers you need and you to pay the patent lawyer."

"I'd be robbing you," protested Bruce. "I should think you'd want to retain an interest in the manufacture, or at least a royalty. There'd be a lot more money in it for you."

"Wait just a minute," directed Loring, sitting down at his typewriting machine from which the neat operator had fled at the very beginning of the social invasion.