“He can’t,” Mr. Walker said, promptly, “unless he buys me out. That’s pat and flat. He can’t, for mine’s in; and mine’s sure to be taken.”
“So I understand,” Tyrrel went on. “Your name, I’m told, carries everything before it. But what I want to suggest now is simply this—How much will you take, money down on the nail, this minute, to withdraw your own design from the informal competition?”
Erasmus Walker gasped hard, drew a long breath, and stared at him. “How much will I take,” he repeated, slowly; “how—much—will—I—take—to withdraw my design? Well, that IS remarkable!”
“I mean it,” Tyrrel repeated, with a very serious face. “This is to me, I will confess, a matter of life and death. I want to see my friend Le Neve in a good position in the world, such as his talents entitle him to. I don’t care how much I spend in order to insure it. So what I want to know is just this and nothing else—how much will you take to withdraw from the competition?”
Erasmus Walker laid his two hands on his fat knees, with his legs wide open, and stared long and hard at his incomprehensible visitor. So strange a request stunned for a moment even that sound business head. A minute or two he paused. Then, with a violent effort, he pulled himself together. “Come, come,” he said, “Mr. Tyrrel; let’s be practical and above-board. I don’t want to rob you. I don’t want to plunder you. I see you mean business. But how do you know, suppose even you buy me out, this young fellow’s design has any chance of being accepted? What reason have you to think the Great North Midland people are likely to give such a job to an unknown beginner?”
“Sir Edward Jones says it’s admirable,” Tyrrel ventured, dubiously.
“Sir Edward Jones says it’s admirable! Well, that’s good, as far as it goes. Jones knows what he’s talking about. Head’s screwed on the right way. But has your friend any interest with the directors—that’s the question? Have you reason to think, if he sends it in, and I hold back mine, his is the plan they’d be likely to pitch upon?”
“I go upon its merits,” Walter Tyrrel said, quietly.
“The very worst thing on earth any man can ever possibly go upon,” the man of business retorted, with cynical confidence. “If that’s all you’ve got to say, my dear sir, it wouldn’t be fair of me to make money terms with you. I won’t discuss my price in the matter till I’ve some reason to believe this idea of yours is workable.”
“I have the designs here all ready,” Walter Tyrrel replied, holding them out. “Plans, elevations, specifications, estimates, sections, figures, everything. Will you do me the favor to look at them? Then, perhaps, you’ll be able to see whether or not the offer’s genuine.”