Mr. Connors seemed surprised and pained. “Well, I’m sorry. You’ll never get as good an offer again. And if you think I’ll raise the figure you’re away off, boys. That’s my last word. A thousand or nothing. Better think it over. There’s no hurry. A week from now will do. Think it over, boys.”
“We don’t need to,” responded Willard firmly. “Tom’s right. We haven’t any idea of selling out, sir.”
Mr. Connors sighed and frowned. “I’m sorry for you,” he said. “I’ll tell you frankly, boys, that Bill Connors isn’t the sort to sit down and see someone take his business away from him. I’ve been easy with you so far but that ain’t saying I’m going to keep on standing around and getting kicked. No, sir! I’ll give you a week to think it over. After that—look out for squalls, boys!”
“We will,” said Tom shortly. “We’ve weathered quite a few of your squalls already and I guess we can get through some more. I guess we’ll be going now.”
“All right. I’m obliged to you for calling.” Mr. Connors was all affability again. “Better think that over, though. A thousand dollars, do you mind; and that’s a good deal of money for a couple of youngsters like you to make. Think it over and let me know by this day week, boys. Good day to you!”
“Good morning, sir,” murmured Willard. Tom strode out silently and said nothing until they were in the car. Then,
“So that was what he wanted to see us about,” he muttered. “You were right, Will.”
“Do you really think he will put on an auto himself?” asked Willard uneasily.
“No, I don’t. He was bluffing. If he meant to do that he wouldn’t bother with buying us out, I guess.”