"Johnny, did you say I should put you on the other list for the same amount ?" Constance leaned hastily forward, with the impulse to interfere against so foolhardy a thing, but caught herself; and, leaning back, she looked at Johnny Gamble in profile and smiled.

There was something fascinating about the fellow's clear-eyed assurance as he cheerfully answered: "If you please, Polly." "It will take you four hundred hours now to make your million," Gresham advised him, with scarcely concealed contempt.
"I'm no loafer," Gamble declared.
They all laughed at that.
"I beg your pardon," apologized Gresham.

"Let's see.

How long will it take you to make your million at the rate of five thousand an hour?
How many hours a day ?" "About seven on regular days; three on Saturdays." Both the girls were still laughing at the absurdity of it all.
"Counting off for Sundays, you should have your million in about forty days," persisted Gresham, figuring it with pencil and paper.
Johnny studied the problem carefully.
"All right; I'll do it," he announced, and looked at his watch.
"Bravo!" applauded Constance.

"If you could succeed in that you would display a force which nothing could resist." Gresham looked at her with a quick frown.
"And if he failed he would display a presumption which nothing could forgive," he paraphrased.