"That's your privilege," replied Tom, smiling. "We don't want it."
There was something so final in his words that Mr. Cunningham knew better than to try other arguments. The last paper was thrust into the case, and the way in which the Englishman snapped the lock showed his anger. He caught up his hat, muttered a "good-day," and hurried out.
"Well, that's that," said Tom Swift, with something between a sigh of relief and regret.
"Tom, you did just right!" exclaimed his father. "I didn't want to interfere, but you gave him the right answer. We want nothing to do with his sort, even though we may have to close down the plant on account of lack of orders."
"We are running a bit short," Tom admitted. "And with all I spent on the talking pictures, with no prospect of any substantial revenue from them for some time, we may be financially up against it soon, Dad."
"Don't worry, Tom. We'll pull through, somehow. You can keep busy, can't you?"
"Oh, yes, I've got to finish my House on Wheels," and Tom fairly spoke of it in capital letters, so near to his heart was this newest invention.
"Ah, yes, Tom, your House on Wheels," and Mr. Swift chuckled a little. "I've been looking it over now and again. Seems as if you had a pretty good thing there."
"I hope it will work out," responded the young man.
"Looks as if you were fitting it up for a trip around the world," went on his father smiling. "Are you?"