He extended his big hand, with a determined gesture, across the table.
“You go down to your office in the morning and write a codicil, or whatever you call it, to my will offering five millions of dollars to any chemist who discovers the active principle in alcohol.”
He flung out his fat fingers.
“No ifs an’ ands, Stetman, you do what I tell you!”
The lawyer very carefully removed the ashes from his cigarette. “I shall have to think about that a little,” he said.
“I’ve already done the thinkin’,” cried the distiller. “You do what I tell you!”
The explosion of his client did not disturb the lawyer. He was accustomed to this energy; and the magnitude of his fees compensated for the manner.
“It is not your intent,” he said, “that I shall wish to consider; it is the form that it might take. A bald offer would hardly do. We shall have to stage the thing in some scientific purpose; perhaps a foundation of some sort would be required with your intention attached as a rider.”
He paused and fingered the cigarette.
“It will be a delicate thing to handle, if one would not have the first Congress emasculate it. It may be necessary to put this fund under some other government, and to include some benefit to the arts or to the public welfare.”