"But I wouldn't sell it just yet if I were you," said Nat. "It may be worth a good deal—"
"Now look here!" Burnham got to his feet in anger. "What business 've you got butting into this?" he demanded, putting himself between Duncan and the inventor.
"Me?" Duncan queried simply. "Only just because I'm a business man. If you don't believe it, ask Mr. Graham."
"He's got a perfect right to advise me, Mr. Burnham," interposed Graham, rising.
"Well, but—but what objection 've you got to his making a little money out of this patent?" Burnham blustered.
"None; only I want to look into the matter first. I think it might be— ah—advisable."
"What makes you think so?" demanded Burnham, his tone withering.
"Well," said Nat, with an effort summoning his faculties to cope with a matter of strict business, "it's this way: I've got an idea," he said, poking at Burnham with the forefinger which had proven so effective with Pete Willing, "that you wouldn't offer five hundred iron men for this burner unless you expected to make something big out of it, and... it ought to be worth just as much to Mr. Graham as to you."
"Ah, you don't know what you're talking about."
"I know that," Nat admitted simply, "but I do happen to know you're promoting a scheme for making gas from crude oil, and if Mr. Graham will listen to me you won't get his patent until I've consulted my friend, Henry Kellogg."