“Say,” scowled young Gennor, “if it’s your game to hold me up, you’re going to get left. See?”
“Mr. Ricks,” said Scoop, “wants only what is coming to him.”
“This invention of his belongs to our company, anyway.”
“That’s what you say.”
“We hired him to do some work on a radio transmitter. And the talking toy idea came to him while he was on our pay-roll. My father says so. But we want to be fair. And we’re willing [[164]]to pay him ten thousand dollars for his invention.”
“Ten thousand dollars,” said Scoop, “wouldn’t interest Mr. Ricks.”
“And if we build our new toy factory here in Tutter,” Gennor added, “we’ll put him in charge of it.”
“Did your father send you here to tell us that?”
“You ask him.”
There was another silence.