“I came,” says Carver, “to see you about your invention. I have been sent to negotiate with you—to—er—endeavor to enter into an—er—business arrangement with you.”
“Oh,” says Mr. Tidd. “Um!”
“Your invention may be valuable, and it may be worthless,” Carver went on.
But Mr. Tidd broke in, cross-like: “It ain’t worthless. It’s goin’ to—to revolutionize transportation, mister. It’s been tested; yes, sir, tested. No guess-work. It does what I said it would do. I know. But it’s been stole.”
Carver’s eyes twinkled, and he smiled to himself as if he was pretty well satisfied with something.
“You seem worried,” says he. “Maybe I can help clear things up for you.”
“Somebody’s run off with my model—night before last. Gone. Take six months to make another.”
“You’re in a pretty bad way, then, if they should go and get a patent on it, aren’t you? Looks as though you wouldn’t have a chance, doesn’t it?”
“Bad—it looks perty bad! I’ve thought and I’ve figgered. Readin’ the Decline and Fall don’t help none. First time it ever failed me. And my boy’s gone, too.”
“It’s fortunate I came, then,” says the lawyer. “I will be willing to make you an offer for your invention even under the circumstances. I can help you that much. Not a big offer, maybe, but a good offer, considering.”