"This is her morning for Wobbling," returned Polly disdainfully. "A while ago she was dodging the perfectly careless compliments of old Tommy and trying not to see that his toupee was on crooked; and now she's down toward the ravine some place, watching young Cecil stumble. You could make yourself a very solid Johnny by trotting right down there and breaking up the party."
"I think I'd rather have a messenger for that," calculated Johnny. "His brothers wish to see Cecil up in the east loggia."
"Sammy will go," offered Winnie confidently; whereat Sammy, smiling affably, promptly rose.
"Go with him, Winnie," ordered Polly. "Trot on now, both of you. I want to talk sense."
Quite cheerfully Winnie gave Sammy her fan, her parasol, her vanity box, her novel, her box of chocolates and her hat, stuffed a handkerchief in his pocket and said: "Come on, Sammy; I'm ready."
"Constance showed me that schedule last night, Johnny," rattled Polly. "You ought to see it, Loring. On Wednesday, at four o'clock, he was exactly even with it; five hundred thousand dollars to the good."
"I know," laughed Loring, "and he'll beat his schedule if the Wobbleses will only hold steady for ten minutes."
"You don't mean to say that a Wobbles could be useful!" protested Polly.
"Half a million dollars' worth," Loring informed her; then he drew his chair closer and lowered his voice. "It's a funny story, Polly. Two weeks ago Johnny took Courtney and Close and Washer and Colonel Bouncer up to the Bronx in my machine and arranged to sell them a subdivision for three and a half million dollars."
"Help!" gasped Polly. "Burglar!"