"Dr. Stevens, I will give you a ten year contract at one hundred thousand dollars a year."
Blankness in the shy, blinking eyes, then mounting anger. "Look, you, who the heck d'you think you're kidding? If you—"
"Dr. Stevens," Garry said hastily—an enraged sheep is an appalling spectacle—"I have a power of attorney from Harley D. Haworth." Ellsworth Stevens gaped like a fish, and was pure no more.
The Pacific lay stagnant, having decided it was too hot a day to do anything except evaporate. But there was the suggestion of a breeze in the garden and ample shade for three men. The dried-up little old man was speaking, and the big bald man and the lean bespectacled man listened with respectful attention.
"I'm a hard-headed business man, and I'm not easy to fool, as many a smart-aleck's learned, hrumph! It would surprise you the number of quacks that try to sell me miracle water and yoga systems and such-like. Blasted parasites!
"But I know a good investment when I see one," the thin, complaining voice went on, "and you gentlemen have a sound idea." He paused benevolently to let them look gratified.
This is ridiculous, thought Gary, the old boy's a caricature.
"A sound idea—don't depend on these pill-rolling fools that call themselves doctors nowadays to keep you hanging around a year or two more, but just go to sleep in a nice refrigerator until people really know something about the body." He shook a bony forefinger.
"And they'll do it, too. I don't believe in much, but I believe in science. It will take a lot of money, but that's what I've got. And you can have all you need, Mr. Jones, all you need, as I've told you before. Blank check. You came to the right man when you came to H.D. Haworth." He sank back into his nylon deck chair, exhausted by the long speech.