“Our own especial business,” retorted Steve. “You will pardon me, sir, if I ask you to take your gasoline and go. This is private property.”
“I see,” said Cumberford. “I’m intruding. Never mind that. Let’s talk a bit; I’m in no hurry.”
“We are very much occupied, sir,” urged Orissa, earnestly.
“No doubt,” said the man. “I overheard a remark as I entered. You were wondering whether to accept Burthon’s offer and give him a half interest. Eh? That interests me; I’m Burthon’s brother-in-law.”
He glanced around him, then calmly took a cigarette from his pocket and offered one to Steve.
“I can’t allow smoking here, sir; there’s too much gasoline about,” said the boy, almost rudely.
“True. I forgot.” He put the case in his pocket. “You’re building some sort of a—er—er—flying machine, I see. That interests me. I’m a crank on aviation. Is this the thing Burthon wants a half interest in?”
Steve scowled. When Cumberford turned to Orissa she slightly nodded, embarrassed how to escape this impertinent questioning.
“I thought so. Then you’ve really got something?”
Steve laughed. His annoyance was passing. The man had already seen whatever there was to see, for his eyes had been busy from the moment he entered. And Steve remembered that this was the person who had outwitted Mr. Burthon in the mine deal.