Tom made some rapid calculations. Two million dollars was a tempting offer for half an interest in the invention. He knew it would be on the market a long time before he would take in that much. Also he must have capital to manufacture the machines. But he still had a card to play.
“I can’t accept that offer,” he said, still moving toward the door.
“Oh, let’s get this over with!” exclaimed Mr. X who, evidently, was used to having his own way. “We’ll give you three millions for a half interest, Tom Swift, let you remain in virtual control, and we’ll start manufacturing as soon as you demonstrate that it’s a success. What do you say to that—three millions?”
“And that’s our limit,” put in another of the men, a tall, lean New Englander.
For a moment Tom Swift did not reply. To a casual observer it might have looked as though he was about to refuse that offer. He had made up his mind, but he did not want to seem too hasty. It was well that these men should know he was their master when it came to plotting and dickering.
“Well, how about it?” asked Mr. B anxiously. “Come, Mr. Tom Swift. Three millions aren’t to be sneezed at.”
“And I don’t intend to sneeze!” said Tom suddenly, with a little chuckle. “Gentlemen, I accept your offer. Put it in writing and we’ll call the conference over!”