CUSINS. Take care! There is an abyss of moral horror between me and your accursed aerial battleships.
UNDERSHAFT. Never mind the abyss for the present. Let us settle the practical details and leave your final decision open. You know that you will have to change your name. Do you object to that?
CUSINS. Would any man named Adolphus—any man called Dolly!—object to be called something else?
UNDERSHAFT. Good. Now, as to money! I propose to treat you handsomely from the beginning. You shall start at a thousand a year.
CUSINS. [with sudden heat, his spectacles twinkling with mischief] A thousand! You dare offer a miserable thousand to the son-in-law of a millionaire! No, by Heavens, Machiavelli! you shall not cheat me. You cannot do without me; and I can do without you. I must have two thousand five hundred a year for two years. At the end of that time, if I am a failure, I go. But if I am a success, and stay on, you must give me the other five thousand.
UNDERSHAFT. What other five thousand?
CUSINS. To make the two years up to five thousand a year. The two thousand five hundred is only half pay in case I should turn out a failure. The third year I must have ten per cent on the profits.
UNDERSHAFT [taken aback] Ten per cent! Why, man, do you know what my profits are?
CUSINS. Enormous, I hope: otherwise I shall require twenty-five per cent.
UNDERSHAFT. But, Mr Cusins, this is a serious matter of business. You are not bringing any capital into the concern.