“It ain’t no good with the model gone,” says Tidd, shaking his head despondent-like.
“My company will be willing to take the risk. What would you say if I was to offer to buy your invention and take all the worry right off your hands?”
“I dunno,” says Mr. Tidd. “I dunno what I would say.”
“I’ve got a paper here all drawn up. It’s an assignment of your rights, properly executed. You understand? A sort of deed, you know. Now the chances are you will never see your model again and that you won’t get a cent out of it. But we are willing to pay you something. It’s the only way you’ll ever get a penny.”
“Maybe so,” said Mr. Tidd. “I’m sort of confused to-day. Mark’s gone, and the turbine’s gone, and I can’t think very clear.”
“Whatever we pay you will be just that much you wouldn’t get if you don’t sell to us. Be a sensible man, now, and make the best of things. You’ve lost your machine. The wise thing to do is to get as much as you can and forget all about it. Go to inventing something else.”
“I sha’n’t ever invent anything else,” Mr. Tidd says, almost in a whisper.
Carver reached into his pocket and pulled out a big roll of bills. “See there,” he said. “I’ve got the money right in my hand.” He shook it in the air so the bills crinkled and crackled. “Remember, you’ll never have another chance. If you don’t sell to me now you’ll never get anything.”
“How much be you offerin’?”
“I’ll give you—five hundred dollars.”