"Work a lot of neglected stunts. I never wanted to make a million till now. I know how, though. I think I'll start with real estate." And he watched Gresham narrowly. 

 "That's a dismal enough opening," announced Gresham with a pained expression. "It is impossible to secure a decent price for property, especially when you want to sell it." 

 "If you want to get rid of some I'll buy it," offered Gamble promptly. 

 "I want cash." And again Gresham smiled over at Constance. The slight trace of a frown flitted across her brow. She had always thought of Gresham as a man of perfect breeding. 

 "Name the right figure. I'll make a deal with you on the spot." 

 "This is scarcely the place for business," Gresham reproved him. 

 "I beg pardon," Gamble quickly said, and looked at Constance, a trifle abashed. 

 "Please go ahead," that young lady urged. "This is more fun than the races." 

 "Thanks." He smiled gratefully, "Now, Gresham, let's get down to statistics. These are working hours. Here's twenty-five hundred." 

 "What for?" asked Gresham, looking at the money avariciously. 

 "To show confidence in the dealer. You have a vacant lot up-town. What's it worth?" 

 "Forty thousand dollars," recited Graham. 

 "If you want forty it's worth thirty," Gamble sagely concluded. "I'll split it with you. Give you thirty-five." 

 Gresham shook his head; but Gamble, watching him closely, saw that he was figuring. 

 "I can't let the property go for less than its value." 

 "I don't want you to. I offered you thirty-five." 

 "On what terms?" inquired Gresham cautiously. 

 "Thirty days cash. This twenty-five hundred is a first payment. I want a renewable option. If I don't cross over with the balance in thirty days, spend the money." 

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