Five Thousand an Hour: How Johnny Gamble Won the Heiress
away from him with that attachment, but he insisted on clinging to his Johnny Gamble; so we'll hand him enough of Johnny by laying a fifty-thousand-dollar attachment against his property." 

 "You're a funny cuss," said Collaton, puzzled. "If you wanted to soak him for this fifty thousand why did you try to scare Courtney off?" 

 "Can't you understand that I'm not after the money?" demanded Gresham. "I've explained that to you before. I want Gamble broke, discredited, and so involved that he can never transact any business in New York." 

 "What's he done to you?" inquired Collaton. "He must be winning a stand-in with your girl." 

 "My private affairs are none of your concern!" Gresham indignantly flared. 

 "All right, governor," assented Collaton a trifle sullenly. "I'll fake that note for you to-night; and—" 

 "I told you I would not have anything to do with any crooked work," Gresham sharply reprimanded him. 

 "Oh, shut up!" growled Collaton. "You give me the cramps. You're a worse crook than I am!" 

 

 

 CHAPTER VIII 

 IN WHICH CONSTANCE SHOWS FURTHER INTEREST IN JOHNNY'S AFFAIRS 

 On Wednesday morning Mr. Courtney, sitting as rigidly at his desk as if he were in church, was handed the card of Morton Washer. He laid the card face down and placed a paper-weight on it, as if he feared it might get away. He turned a callous eye on his secretary and, in his driest and most husky tones, directed: "Tell Mr. Washer I will see him in five minutes." 

 During that five minutes Mr. Courtney signed letters as solemnly as a judge pronouncing a death sentence. At last he paused and looked at himself for a solid half-minute in the bookcase mirror across from his desk. Apparently he was as mournful as an undertaker, but at the end of the inspection his mouth suddenly stretched in a wide grin, which bristled the silver-white beard upon his cheeks; his eyes screwed themselves up into knots of jovial wrinkles and he winked—actually winked—at his reflection in the glass! Thereupon he straightened his face and sent for Morton Washer. 

 Mr. Washer, proprietor of two of the largest hotels in New York, 
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