Armstrong allowed the faintest shadow of a grin to hover about his mouth.
"No doubt," he said, "but there is no reason that you should not tell me what they are. Advance, for instance, on account of royalties. What do you propose?"
Akroyd put a hand to his fine brow, frowning a little.
"I think I suggested some sum to you," he said. "Eight hundred pounds advance, was it? Something like that."
Again Armstrong boiled within himself.... Yet after all this was business. Akroyd wanted to pay as little as he could: he himself wanted to obtain the most possible. But it was mean, when he knew quite well that he had himself proposed a thousand pounds. It was great fun, too ... the thought of Craddock now on the bosom of the treacherous Mediterranean, perhaps being sea-sick....
"Oh, no," he said quite good naturedly. "A thousand was the sum you proposed. But I don't accept it."
The interview did not last long after this: a mere mention of Tranby's name was enough, and a quarter of an hour afterwards Akroyd went home in a taxi (as the streets were now empty) having yielded on every point, but well pleased with his acquisition. Fifteen hundred pounds down and royalties on a high scale was a good deal to give. But it seemed to him that there was a good deal to be got.
Frank sat up for another half-hour alone, in a big arm-chair, hugging his knees, and occasionally bursting out into loud unaccountable laughter. What an excellent ten-minutes scene the last half-hour would make in a play called, say "The Actor Manager" or "The Middleman." How mean people were! And how delightful fifteen hundred pounds was! But what work, what work to bring his play up to the level of the first act! But he would do it: he was not going to be content with anything but his best.
Then he laughed again.