“I'm not so sure,” said Bill, who was inventor enough to be suspicious.
“Oh, shucks! Mr. Thompson is a square man,” retorted Tommy.
“He's like all the rest. All business men are nothing but sure-thing gamblers, and they never make their gambling roll big enough. Take the case of the Tecumseh carburetor. It used to be a fine carburetor.”
“Isn't it still?”
“In a way. You see, the oil companies can't supply the demand for high-grade gas, so what you get to-day is so much poorer than it was five years ago that the old carburetor couldn't work with it at all. Now the carburetor is one of the principal things the advertisements call attention to in the Tecumseh.” Bill permitted himself a look of disgust.
“What's the answer?” asked Tommy.
“To be able to use bum gasoline. I've been working on this at odd times.”
“Why not at all times?” asked Tommy, with a stem frown.
Bill could see by Tommy's face that Tommy would remain unconvinced by any answer he might make. So he resorted to sarcasm.
“You see, dear Mr. Leigh, when you work with the company's machine in the company's shop in the company's time, the company has a claim on your invention. Oh, yes, I could tell you a thousand stories of fellows who—”