“Would you accept the position?” asked the boy.
“Yes; there isn’t much else to interest me just now, and—I hate Burthon.”
“Poor uncle!” sighed Sybil.
“On what terms will you undertake this, sir?” Steve inquired, with anxiety.
“Why, I may have to spend a lot of money; probably will; and my time’s valuable; when I’m not here I’m moping at the Alexandria Hotel; so I propose you give me ten per cent of your profits for the first three years.”
“That is absurd, sir,” declared Steve. “There will be little profit at first, and ten per cent of it wouldn’t amount to anything.”
Mr. Cumberford smiled—a grim smile that was one of his peculiarities.
“It’ll do, Steve. I’ll make it pay me well, see if I don’t. But you may add to the demand, if you like, by promising to present my daughter the fourth complete Kane Aircraft your factory turns out.”
“The first!” cried Steve.
“No, the fourth. We want the first three to go where they’ll advertise us. Is it a bargain, Mr. Kane?”