"I'd advise you to hear me out, Frank," Masterson went on. "I said you could pay more, but I didn't say what I had to offer wasn't worth more, did I?"
"Why is it worth more now than it was this forenoon?" Granthope asked impatiently.
"It's worth more, because I've seen Vixley, and I've found out things that it's for your interest to know. I'm on the inside, now, and I'm prepared to make a better bargain."
"I see; you've sold me out, and now you want to turn over and sell Vixley out for a raise? I might have guessed that!" He turned to his desk in disgust.
"I don't care what you think. I ain't discussing high moral principles. I'm here to make a living in the quickest and most practical way. If you don't care to hear what I've got to say, I'll leave."
"How do I know you've got anything of value to me? Why should I trust you?"
"You can't expect me to tell you, and then leave it to you to make a satisfactory price, can you?"
"Oh, I don't care what you've learned. We'll call it all off." Granthope rose, as if to end the interview.
Masterson seeing his caution had gone too far became more eager. "Let's talk this thing out, Frank, man to man. Suppose I tell you half of it, and let you see whether it's as important as I say. Then we'll have a basis to figure on."
"All right, but make it brief. I'm getting sick of the business." He sat down, tilted back in his chair and waited, gazing at the ceiling.