Jameson-Guff, so christened by his wife, but more familiarly known among his associates as Jim Guff, received Johnny with a frown when he understood his errand. 

 "You're too late," he told Johnny. "We've turned the option over to our wives to do with as they pleased. We're to have a swell yacht club out there now. I think that's a graft, too!" 

 "If you get stung again, Mr. Guff, let me know," offered Johnny, "and I'll have you a bona fide apartment-house proposition in short order." 

 "Nyagh!" observed Mr. Guff. 

 Johnny dutifully reported to his score keeper the result of his errand and, that evening, to explain it more fully he went out to her house; but he found Gresham there and nobody had a very good time. 

 On the following morning he saw in the papers that the Royal Yacht Club, a new organization, the moving spirit of which was one Michael T. O'Shaunessy, was to have magnificent headquarters on Riverside Drive—and he immediately went to see Mr. Guff. Mike O'Shaunessy was a notorious proprietor of road houses and "clubs" of shady reputation, and there was no question as to what sort of place the Royal Yacht Club would be. 

 Mr. Guff was furious about it. 

 "I knew it," he said. "The women have just telephoned me an authorization to send for this Jacobs blackguard and buy back the option." 

 "Jacobs?" inquired Johnny, "Not Abraham Jacobs?" 

 "That's the one," corroborated Guff. "Why, do you know him?" 

 "He is a professional stinger," Johnny admitted. "He stung me, and Collaton helped." 

 "I've no doubt of it," responded Guff. "It was a put-up job in the first place. By the way, Gamble, you used to be in partnership with Collaton yourself." 

 "That's true enough," admitted Johnny. "Possibly I'd better give you some references." 

 "Give them to the women," retorted Guff. 

 An hour later Johnny telephoned Guff. 

 "Did you repurchase the option from Jacobs?" he inquired. 

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