something else. Drive me up to the address on that real estate sign
and I'll pay you whatever the clock says and let you go."

"The clock says a one-pound box of chocolates," she promptly
estimated. "Wait, though. I did send for some!" And she looked back
into the tonneau. "Why, drat it all! I mislaid Sammy!" she gasped.





CHAPTER VI

IN WHICH CONSTANCE DECIDES ON A FAIR GAME




By three o'clock Johnny Gamble had acquired so much hotel
information that his head seemed stuffed. Every bright-eyed
financier in the city had nursed the happy thought of a terminal
hotel and had made tentative plans--and had jerked back with
quivering tentacles; for all the property in that neighborhood was
about a thousand degrees Fahrenheit. The present increase of value
and that of the next half-century had been gleefully anticipated,
and the fortunate possessor of a ninety-nine-year lease on a peanut
stand felt that he was providing handsomely for his grandchildren.

Mr. Gamble detailed these depressing facts to his friend Loring with
much vigor and picturesqueness.