“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—”
“I’ve found it an excellent rule never to do business with friends,” said the Major, grimly.
“But listen,” said Montague; and he argued long enough to convince his companion that that could not be the true explanation. Then the Major sat for a minute or two and pondered; and suddenly he exclaimed, “I have it! I see why they won’t touch it!”
“What is it?”
“It’s the coal companies! They’re giving the steamships short weight, and they don’t want the coal weighed truly!”