"Well, not exactly," replied Eugene. "You see it wasn't necessary. We never had definitely appointed him. Come to think, neither he nor Gresham insisted on it; and, anyhow, the fellow never came back to us."
"I see," said Loring softly with a glance at Johnny. "So, you being without an agent, Gresham kindly consented to act for you—without commission."
"Ow, yes, certainly, without commission," agreed Eugene. "Very decent indeed of him, now, wasn't it?"
"Almost pathetic," admitted Loring. "Well, Johnny," he said as they went back to the office, "you're up against it. While Birchard was forging the papers to get your million Gresham was establishing an alibi for himself. The only thing I see for you to do—besides laying for Gresham—is to repudiate this entire deal and get back as much of your half-million as you can."
"And owe the rest of it to my friends?" demanded Johnny. "Not any. I'll pay over the two and a half million I have on hand, complete the deal and stand the loss myself. I'll be broke, but I won't owe anybody."
Loring looked at him with sudden pity. "You'll have to take a fresh start," he advised as lightly as possible, since one did not like to be caught expressing pity to Johnny. "You have two days left."
"Guess again!" directed Johnny. "One of them's a holiday—Decoration Day—to-morrow."
"Tough luck, old man!" said Loring.
"I didn't care for the million, Loring," declared Johnny wearily, driven for the first time to an open confession.
"I know," agreed Loring gently, still suffering from his own hurt. "It was Constance. She may not be so keen for that million as you think."