"I'm so charitable as to be almost weak," he insisted with a grin.
"Seriously; though, Lucy, Gresham's not square. He tried to destroy
Johnny Gamble's credit with me two or three weeks ago in a most
underhanded manner."

There was a moment of silence, during which the pair in the bower
gazed straight up at nothing.

"You seem to like Mr. Gamble," mused Mrs. Courtney. "Everybody does,
however. Where is he from?"

"Some little town up the state," returned Courtney indifferently.
"He's a fine young fellow, square as a die and a hustler! He's going
to marry Constance Joy."

Johnny Gamble, turning the color of a tomato, dropped his sailor
straw hat, and its edge hit the tiled floor with a noise like the
blow of an ax. Constance could have murdered him for it. They missed
a lot of conversation just about then.

Courtney and his wife rounded the corner of the bower and paused a
moment before turning into it.

"Really, Ben," defended Mrs. Courtney, returning to the criticism
that her husband by now wished he had not made, "except for the
epidemic of Wobbleses this would have been a delightful week-end
party: Constance, Polly, fluffy little Winnie, Mrs. Follison and our
own two girls; Mr. Loring, Val Russel, Bruce Townley, Sammy Chirp,
Mr. Gamble and Mr. Gresham. For your entertainment you'll have Mr.
Washer, Mr. Close and Colonel Bouncer, with whom you will play poker