Mike rubbed his hands.
"Say, it's sure a great play," he said gleefully.
"And seein' you're his son the risk don't amount to pea-shucks," nodded the perspiring hotel proprietor.
"You can be quite easy on that score," laughed Gordon. "I can promise you this: it won't be the old dad's fault, when this is over, if you don't find yourselves gathered around a mighty convivial board somewhere in New York—at his expense. You know my father as a pretty bright financier. I don't guess you know him as the sportsman I do."
Mallinsbee suddenly bestirred himself and removed his cigar.
"I kind o' wish he weren't your father, Gordon, boy," he said bluntly. "It sort of seems tough to me."
Gordon's eyes shot a whimsical smile across at Hazel's father.
"I'd hate to have any other, Mr. Mallinsbee," he said. "Maybe I know how you're feeling about it. But I tell you right here, if my father knew I had this opportunity and didn't take it, he'd turn his face to the wall and never own me as his son again. You're reckoning that for a son to do his father down sort of puts that son on a level with David Slosson or any other low down tough. Maybe it does. But I just think my father the bulliest feller on earth, and I love him mighty hard. I love him so well that I'd hate to give him a moment's pain. I tell you frankly that it would pain him if I didn't take this opportunity. It would pain him far more than anything we intend to do to him—when we get him here."
He rose from his seat and his good-natured smile swept over the faces of his companions.
"How do you say, gentlemen? Our work's done for to-night. Are we for bed?"