“I’ve talked with my brother, sir, and he dislikes to give up a half interest in his invention.”
“Did you tell him I would furnish all the money that might be required?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And he refused?”
“This aëroplane is very dear to my brother, Mr. Burthon. He cannot bear to transfer a part ownership to another, who would have the right to dictate its future.”
“Pshaw!” exclaimed the broker, impatiently; “the boy’s a fool. There’s scarcely an inventor in the world who hasn’t had to sacrifice an interest in his creation in order to raise money.”
“Stephen won’t do it,” declared Orissa, positively, for she resented the speech.
Mr. Burthon fell silent, drumming on the desk with his fingers, as he always did when in deep thought. Orissa started to rise, thinking the interview closed.
“Wait a moment, please,” he said. “How old are you, Miss Kane?—your name is Orissa, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir. I am seventeen.”