“Even if it would, he said the whistle, being a mere passing novelty, would soon peg out. He advised me to find somebody who would take the whole business off my hands for a bulk sum—some one who ran a sort of supply headquarters for cheap novelties. That started me on a new tangent. I finally ran across the ideal person—a sort of padrone fellow who hired poor foreigners on a commission. I went to him fully prepared though.”
“How was that Bob?” asked Ben.
“Why, I knew he or somebody else would steal the whistle idea if it struck them favorably, unless I made a tangible show of controlling the situation. I made a real impressive looking drawing of the whistle—sectional view and all that, you know. Then I went to a big hardware factory and got a written estimate on the whistle in ten thousand lots.”
“Whew!” ejaculated Ben admiringly.
“Oh, I’m no cheap man when I get started,” vaunted Bob, with a laugh. “The name of the padrone was Vladimir. When I went to him, I had the drawing and the contract and a lot of big talk all ready. The man was interested at once. He heard me play on the whistle, tried it himself, didn’t make much progress, and then shook his head dubiously. Then he called in half a dozen fellows. They were musicians in his employ—mostly hurdy-gurdy men. They all tried the whistle. Four of them got onto the knack at once. Then I made my star hit.”
“How was that?”
“I suggested that he send out a team—organ and whistle—and tab results. The thing went grandly. The next morning, after a lot of dickering, Vladimir gave me four hundred dollars for the outfit.”
“Bob, you are a genius,” remarked Mrs. Hardy.
“Does the price suit you, Mr. Inventor?” inquired the other, “or did I sell too cheap?”
“Cheap!” cried Ben. “Think of it! All that money mine! What will I ever do with it?”