“My dear sir,” Mr. Walker replied, fingering the papers lovingly, “it’s an admirable design—sound, cheap, and practical. It’s as good as it can be. To tell you the truth, I admire it immensely.”
“Well, then,” Tyrrel said at last, all his scruples removed—“let’s come to business. I put it plainly. How much will you take to withdraw your own design, and to throw your weight into the scale in favor of my friend’s here?”
Erasmus Walker closed one eye, and rewarded his visitor fixedly out of the other for a minute or two in silence, as if taking his bearings. It was a trick he had acquired from frequent use of a theodolite. Then he answered at last, after a long, deep pause, “It’s YOUR deal, Mr. Tyrrel. Make me an offer, won’t you?”
“Five thousand pounds?” tremblingly suggested Walter Tyrrel.
Erasmus Walker opened his eye slowly, and never allowed his surprise to be visible on his face. Why, to him, a job like that, entailing loss of time in personal supervision, was hardly worth three. The plans were perfunctory, and as far as there was anything in them, could be used again elsewhere. He could employ his precious days meanwhile to better purpose in some more showy and profitable work than this half-hatched viaduct. But this was an upset price. “Not enough,” he murmured, slowly, shaking his bullet head. “It’s a fortune to the young man. You must make a better offer.”
Walter Tyrrel’s lip quivered. “Six thousand,” he said, promptly.
The engineer judged from the promptitude of the reply that the Cornish landlord must still be well squeezable. He shook his head gain. “No, no; not enough,” he answered short. “Not enough—by a long way.”
“Eight,” Tyrrel suggested, drawing a deep breath of suspense. It was a big sum, indeed, for a modest estate like Penmorgan.
The engineer shook his head once more. That rush up two thousand at once was a very good feature. The man who could mount by two thousand at a time might surely be squeezed to the even figure.
“I’m afraid,” Walter said, quivering, after a brief mental calculation—mortgage at four per cent—and agricultural depression running down the current value of land in the market—“I couldn’t by any possibility go beyond ten thousand. But to save my friend—and to get the young lady married—I wouldn’t mind going as far as that to meet you.”