“It would seem to me that those discoveries,” demurred Spurrier thoughtfully, “would come each time to some highly trained technician in some particular line.”
Snowdon shook his head again. “That’s why they have come slowly heretofore,” he declared with conviction. “That man I have in mind is one with a sure nose for the trail and a power of absorbing readily and rapidly what he requires of the other man’s technical knowledge. It’s the policy that Japan has followed as a nation. They let others work the problems out over there—then they appropriate the results. 44 I’m not commending it as a national trait, but for this work it’s the first essential. Having made his discovery, this new type of business man will enlist for it the needful financial support.” He paused again and Spurrier, lighting a fresh cigarette, regarded him through eyes slit-narrowed against the flare of the match.
“He must be a sort of opportunity hound,” continued Snowdon smilingly. “He would go baying across the world in full cry and come back to the kennel at the end of each chase.”
Spurrier laughed. “If you’ll pardon me, sir,” he hazarded, “you make a very bad metaphor. I should fancy that the opportunity hound would do the stillest sort of still hunting.”
The older man smiled and bowed his head affirmatively.
“I accept the amendment. The point is, do I give you the concept of the work?”
“In a broad, extremely sketchy way, I think I get the picture,” replied Spurrier. “But could you give me some sort of illustration that would make it a shade more concrete?”
His companion sat considering the question for a while and at last inquired: “Do you know anything about oil? I mean about its production?”
“I’ve been on the Pennsylvania Railroad, coming west,” testified the former lieutenant. “And I’ve run through ragged hills where on every side, stood clumsy, timber affairs like overgrown windmills from which some victorious Don Quizote had knocked off the whirligigs. Then I’ve read a little of Ida Tarbell.”