“Not with you,” said the Major. “Why? What is it?”
And then Montague told him about his friend’s proposition, and described the invention. The other listened attentively to the end; and then, after a pause, Montague asked him, “What do you think of it?”
“The invention’s no good,” said the Major, promptly.
“How do you know?” asked the other.
“Because, if it had been, the companies would have taken it long ago, without paying him a cent.”
“But he has it patented,” said Montague.
“Patented hell!” replied the other. “What’s a patent to lawyers of concerns of that size? They’d have taken it and had it in use from Maine to Texas; and when he sued, they’d have tied the case up in so many technicalities and quibbles that he couldn’t have got to the end of it in ten years—and he’d have been ruined ten times over in the process.”
“Is that really done?” asked Montague.
“Done!” exclaimed the Major. “It’s done so often you might say it’s the only thing that’s done.—The people are probably trying to take you in with a fake.”
“That couldn’t possibly be so,” responded the other. “The man is a friend—”