“Are you there, Tonnesen? Much the same, thank you.—Ever hear of an American named Mahan—not the sea dog, but a lad?—Weighed what?—I get it now, but it sounded like trope.—Those names mean nothing to me. Wait till I ask him.”
“Tonnesen says you are younger than two chemists named Lewis and Langmuir.”
“He’s right enough. And those two men have made a tremendous contribution, but I’m guessing that on a certain point they are wrong.”
Lord Fortinbras resumed the connection.
“He knows ’em, and he thinks they are tremendous but wrong.—No, he didn’t go west. On the whole, should you think it a waste of money if his father built him a laboratory?—Thank you. Sorry to have interrupted your calculations.”
His lordship put the instrument back on the table, and fixed his eyes on Marvin.
“Considering what Tonnesen has said to me, and considering that girl of yours, and considering the fact that I’ve had a million pounds from the pine on that four hundred and thirty-eight thousand acres. I’m going to accept your father’s offer.”
“My lord, we are distinctly grateful, but your shares represent six thousand acres more than your estimate.”
A door opened noiselessly, and the secretary laid a small sheet of paper before his employer.
“Thank you, Nicholas. Ask them to come up.”