Mr. Courtney kindly wrote the address on a slip of paper. Mr. Washer
looked at it with a grunt, stuffed it in his waistcoat pocket and
slammed out of the door. Mr. Courtney winked at himself in the
glass. Old Mort Washer would try to take advantage of him, to the
extent of an eighth of a million dollars, would he! Make his old
friend Courtney take an eighth of a million less than he paid, eh?
Mr. Courtney whistled a merry little tune.

Fifteen minutes later, Old Mort Washer bounced into Loring's office.

"Mr. Gamble?" he popped out.

Both gentlemen turned to him, but Loring turned away.

"I'm Gamble," stated that individual.

"I'm Morton Washer."

Since Mr. Gamble was aware of that fact and was expecting this
visit, he betrayed no surprise.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Washer?" he inquired.

"Are you taking bona fide subscriptions to your Terminal Hotel
Company?"

"No other kind interests me."

"How nearly is your company filled?"