“Did they read all your dope?” asked David.
“They have it in there,” said Cram. “I’ll bet it knocks ’em cold. I told ’em all I could, but it was such a scramble. I don’t believe I touched on the oil. Ready money, Ellison. A few family gushers to put into improvements and all that. Yes, I ought to have mentioned the oil.”
“Well, I bet the oil will leak out sooner or later,” said David. “Good luck!” He went on.
Two hours later as David skirted the big landing field, he saw Cram, suitcase in hand, hurrying toward the taxi stand. David shouted, but he did not appear to hear. Breaking into a run, David overtook him.
“What’s the decision?” he enquired.
Cram’s face was livid; his lips twitched.
“Ellison, they turned me down!” he announced. “Said I wasn’t scholastically and technically qualified. Politics in it somehow, of course. Or some personal grudge.” He swore roundly.
“Why, that’s too bad!” said David. The other’s bitter disappointment roused a feeling of friendship that surprised him.
“I’ll get even somehow,” said the other. “Why, all I wanted was to make a name for myself in something beside oil.” His eyes filled.
“Well, that’s all right. You study, and come back next year, and try again. If you want any help or suggestions, write me. I’ll do what I can.”