“What do you mean by that?” demanded Connorton.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” replied Hartley, with an air of the utmost frankness. “I seldom mean anything, of course, and it is such a lot of trouble to find out what I do mean when I mean anything that I usually give it up. But you are so deeply interested in me—so much more interested in me than I am in myself—that I thought you might want to keep me sane; that you might not like to feel that you had driven me crazy.”
Paulson was about to interrupt, but Connorton motioned to him to be silent. Connorton was in the habit of handling his own business matters, and he wanted his lawyer to speak only when a legal proposition was put directly up to him. It may be admitted that he was sorely perplexed now; but he found nothing in the inventor’s face but a bland smile, and he did not think Paulson could help him to interpret that.
“Hartley,” he said at last, “I’ll get you out of here and add five thousand to what you’ve already had the moment that patent is properly transferred to me.”
“Connorton,” returned the inventor, “I believe I’m crazy. When I think of the events of the last few days—of your more than brotherly interest in me, which I have pleasurably exploited during our delightful association—I believe I am crazy enough to say, Come again!”
Connorton drew a long breath and conceded another point. “Hartley,” he proposed, “you may keep the money I have already given you—”
“Thank you,” said Hartley; “I shall.”
“—and you may also have a quarter interest in the patent,” concluded Connorton.
“It’s all mine now,” suggested Hartley.
“If so,” argued Connorton, who well knew that much of the money had been spent, “you owe me twenty-five thousand dollars.”