"Is it?" Bettis asked. "Listen, Johnny, don't let anyone sell you a bill of goods—like the Civil Service Commission giving you a GS-8 rating and sending you to Washington. Because stick with me, kid, and there'll be great things in store for you, you'll see."
"Such," said Maxine dubiously, "as what?"
"Are you on our side?" Harry Bettis asked her suspiciously.
"I'm on Jo-Anne's side. If old Johnny here has something she ought to have, I want to know it."
"You mean, if she ought to change her mind and marry him? I'll admit it even if I think Jo-Anne's a real cute trick: she'd be nuts if she didn't." Women, Harry Bettis did not add, never came between Harry Bettis and ten percent of a gold mine. But that's what he was thinking. He went on: "Just think of it, Johnny. Drought in the Midwest. They call Sloman. Sloman predicts rain. It rains. Have any idea what they'd pay for a stunt like that? Or swollen rivers in New England, or California. Looks like another big flood is on the way, but they call Sloman. Looks like rain, kiddo? That don't matter. Predict a dry spell and it won't rain. Do you know," Harry Bettis said in a devout whisper, "what a stunt like that would be worth? Millions."
"Yeah, wise guy," said Maxine. "So what's in it for you?"
Harry Bettis did not look at Maxine when he answered. He looked at Johnny and said, "I'll be frank, kiddo. You have the talent, but you don't have the salesmanship to promote it. Do you want a mediocre job while the weather boys exploit you for the rest of your life or—do you want greatness, riches, and Jo-Anne?"
"Jo-Anne," Johnny said.
Harry Bettis nodded. "My price is twenty-five percent."