STRONG WORDS
Tom Swift, with a negative shake of his head, shoved several papers across the table that separated him from a burly, red-faced man whose eyes narrowly observed the young inventor.
"Then you refuse this contract, Mr. Swift—a contract for constructing over one hundred thousand dollars' worth of machinery on which you can make a handsome profit? You absolutely refuse it?"
The red-faced man in his eagerness was leaning forward now.
"Yes, Mr. Cunningham, I refuse!" was Tom's crisp answer. "The Swift Construction Company does not care to handle it."
Mr. Barton Swift, father of the young man who thus calmly turned down what seemed like a good business proposition, nodded in affirmation of what his son had said.
"Is that your last word?" asked Basil Cunningham, who plainly showed his English ancestry, not only in his face and figure but in his general bearing and manner. "This refusal is final?" he inquired.
"Quite final and complete," answered Tom, as he added another document to the pile of those he had pushed toward his visitor. They were blue prints, specifications, and contract forms, but they all went across the table. "The matter is closed."
"But, look here! I say, now!" and Mr. Cunningham began to wax excited, not to say wroth. "I can't understand——"
"Do you mean to say you don't understand English?" asked Mr. Swift, and the smile on the face of the aged inventor took away whatever sting there might otherwise have been in the words. "I thought my son spoke very plainly. He said 'no,' and that's what he means."