Sally returned to her seat, relieved, and found that the company had now divided itself into two schools of thought. The conservative and prudent element, led by Augustus Bartlett, had definitely decided on three hundred thousand in Liberty Bonds and the rest in some safe real estate; while the smaller, more sporting section, impressed by the mild young man's inside information, had already placed Sally's money on Benny Whistler, doling it out cautiously in small sums so as not to spoil the market. And so solid, it seemed, was Mr. Tuke's reputation with those in the inner circle of knowledge that the mild young man was confident that, if you went about the matter cannily and without precipitation, three to one might be obtained. It seemed to Sally that the time had come to correct certain misapprehensions. “I don't know where you get your figures,” she said, “but I'm afraid they're wrong. I've just twenty-five thousand dollars.” The statement had a chilling effect. To these jugglers with half-millions the amount mentioned seemed for the moment almost too small to bother about. It was the sort of sum which they had been mentally setting aside for the heiress's car fare. Then they managed to adjust their minds to it. After all, one could do something even with a pittance like twenty-five thousand. “If I'd twenty-five thousand,” said Augustus Bartlett, the first to rally from the shock, “I'd buy Amalgamated...” “If I had twenty-five thousand...” began Elsa Doland. “If I'd had twenty-five thousand in the year nineteen hundred,” observed a gloomy-looking man with spectacles, “I could have started a revolution in Paraguay.” He brooded sombrely on what might have been. “Well, I'll tell you exactly what I'm going to do,” said Sally. “I'm going to start with a trip to Europe... France, specially. I've heard France well spoken of--as soon as I can get my passport; and after I've loafed there for a few weeks, I'm coming back to look about and find some nice cosy little business which will let me put money into it and keep me in luxury. Are there any complaints?” “Even a couple of thousand on Benny Whistler...” said the mild young man. “I don't want your Benny Whistler,” said Sally. “I wouldn't have him if you gave him to me. If I want to lose money, I'll go to Monte Carlo and do it properly.” “Monte Carlo,” said the gloomy man, brightening up at the magic name. “I was in Monte Carlo in the year '97, and if I'd had another fifty dollars... just fifty... I'd have...” At the far end of the table there was a stir, a cough, and the grating of a chair on the floor; and slowly, with that easy grace which actors of the old school learned in the days when acting was acting, Mr. Maxwell Faucitt, the boarding-house's oldest inhabitant, rose to his feet.