“Yes, I got it,” said Paul, bitterly, “and—and——”
“Not bad news, is it?”
“The worst. Washington won’t touch the ice motor with a pair of tongs.”
“Let’s look,” said Rob, extending his hand for the message which Paul had drawn from his pocket as he spoke. But before the inventive lad could pass the paper to his chum, Freeman Hunt’s hand darted out and intercepted it.
“Let me look at it one moment,” he said. “There’s something that wasn’t quite clear when I saw it before.”
“But you didn’t see it before,” protested Paul. “You gave it to me and I told you what was in it. Then you made me your offer.”
“I guess you had better give me that dispatch, Mr. Hunt,” said Rob, quietly, but with an ominous glitter in his eyes.
“When I get ready, my young whipper-snapper,” was the rejoinder, “and now if you will clear out for a minute, Paul and I have some business together.”
“He wants to buy the rights to the machine for $1,500,” volunteered Paul.
“Oh, he does, does he?” snorted Rob. “Why, I’d give you more than that myself. This fellow is after you to make money out of you, Paul, and——”