Duplay whispered to Iver. Sloyd whispered to Harry. Iver listened attentively, Harry with evident impatience. "Let it go for thirty, don't make an enemy of him," had been Sloyd's secret counsel.
"My dear Harry, the simple fact is that the business won't stand more than a certain amount. If we put money into Blinkhampton, it's because we want it to come out again. Now the crop will be limited." He paused. "I'll make you an absolutely final offer—thirty."
"My price is fifty," said Harry immovably.
"Out of the question."
"All right." Harry lit a cigarette with an air of having finished the business.
"It simply cannot be done on the figures," Iver declared with genuine vexation. "We've worked it out, Harry, and it can't be done. If I showed our calculations to Mr Sloyd, who is, I'm sure, willing to be reasonable——"
"Yes, Mr Iver, I am. I am, I hope, always desirous
of—er—meeting gentlemen half-way; and nothing could give me greater pleasure than to do business with you, Mr Iver."
"Unfortunately you seem to have—a partner," Iver observed. "No, I've told you the most we can give." He leant back in his chair. This time it was he who had finished business.
"And I've told you the least we can take."