His chest seemed to have expanded something over a foot, and his nose had attained an elevation that pointed his gaze straight to the skies.
“Good gracious, Hawkins, what is it?” I asked. “Have they been inflating you with gas in there?”
“I beg pardon?”
“What has happened to swell your bosom? Is it the first payment?”
“Oh, you heard that, did you?” said the inventor, with a condescending smile. “Yes, Griggs, I may confess to some slight satisfaction in that payment. It is a matter of one thousand dollars—from the coal people, you know.”
“But what for? Have you threatened to invent something for them, and now are exacting blackmail to desist?”
“Tush, Griggs, tush!” responded Hawkins. “Do make some attempt to subdue that inane wit. I fancy you'll feel rather cheap hearing that that thousand dollars is the first payment on something I have invented!”
“What!”
“Certainly. I am selling the patent to these people. It is the Hawkins Crano-Scale!”
“Crano-Scale?” I reflected. “What is it? A hair tonic?”