Читать книгу Tom Swift and his Great Oil Gusher or The Treasure of Goby Farm - Howard R Garis - Страница 6

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The three visitors exchanged glances. It was evident that they did not especially welcome the suggestion. Like many business men, they had the idea that inventors were a sort of dreamy impractical race, not keen at bargaining and easy to beguile in a business deal.

Still they could not decently object to a thing so obviously correct, and after a mere instant of hesitation, Thompson made a virtue of necessity.

“We should be delighted,” he said suavely.

Tom took up the telephone that rested on a table near his hand and called up the plant.

“Mr. Newton,” he announced to the operator. “Hello. That you, Ned? Come right over, will you? I’m telephoning from the house. Some gentlemen are here with a business proposition and I want you here to confer with us. All right.”

“And while we’re about it,” remarked Tom, as he put down the telephone, “I’ll have my father in, if you don’t mind. He’s something of an invalid, but he’ll be of great help in discussing the proposition.”

Thompson assented with the slightest touch of vexation, immediately repressed, and Tom called through the window to Rad to summon his father.

They talked on indifferent matters for a few minutes until Mr. Swift and Ned arrived.

“Now, Mr. Thompson,” said Tom, after introductions had taken place and they had settled back in their chairs.

“As I stated,” resumed Thompson, “my partners and I are interested in having some special oil-well machinery manufactured. We have recently returned from a trip to Texas, where we have been investigating the oil situation. I can’t be more specific just now as to the exact location we have fixed upon for our venture for reasons that you can easily understand. We do not care to have any one know where it is, for although we have secured a large number of leases on property in the vicinity there are still more that we are negotiating for, and we do not care for competition. We think we have struck a rich field. At any rate, we are confident enough to make a try for it, although it involves a large outlay of capital. We want to get the material manufactured beforehand and shipped all at the same time so that it will be only a matter of setting up the machinery and starting the work. If you can do the work within a stipulated time and if your prices are right, we may be able to come to an agreement. But we would want you to cut your figures to the bone.”

“You can depend upon us treating you fairly in the matter of price,” put in Tom, and Ned nodded assent.

“Here,” said Thompson, taking up several sheets covered with figures and diagrams, “are the specifications of what we think we shall need; tubing, casings, drills, bits and the rest. They differ in some respects from those commonly in use, but we think they represent the most up-to-date inventions and improvements.”

“Of course,” put in Bragden, “if in the course of their manufacture you can improve on them we shall be glad to have you do so. Any new idea that comes to you we shall welcome. But, of course, that will not affect the conditions of the contract we may make with you.”

“Oh, yes it will,” said Tom drily. “Our contract will cover only the manufacture in exact conformity to the stipulations. If I invent anything better, the invention will belong to me.”

“I don’t see why,” growled Hankinshaw. “It seems to me that all your brains and time belong to us while you are working on the contract.”

His tone and manner were offensive, but Tom restrained his resentment and answered quietly.

“You’re mistaken there,” he replied. “You will see that if you look up the law on patents.”

“That’s all right,” said Thompson soothingly. “What we are especially interested in now is the time in which you can do this and the figure at which you can do it.”

“I think we can satisfy you in both particulars,” replied Tom, as he looked over the plans. “We have the plant and the machinery for turning out all the implements you have down here. But, of course, in a thing of this kind we can’t answer offhand. We’ll have to figure out labor and material costs, overhead and other items before we can name a definite figure. Suppose you leave these papers with us, and by to-morrow night we’ll be prepared to give you our terms. How will that do?”

“That’s satisfactory,” replied Mr. Thompson, after a moment’s conference with his colleagues. “Shall we see you here or at our hotel?”

“Perhaps we’d better meet in the office of the plant,” suggested Tom. “Then we can show you over the factory and let you get an idea of our facilities.”

“Good idea,” assented Thompson, and, rising, he and his companions took their departure.

“Bless my bank account!” exclaimed Mr. Damon, after the visitors had gone. “I think I’ve let you in for a good thing, Tom, my boy.”

“It may be so,” replied Tom reflectively, “and I’m very much obliged to you. By the way, Mr. Damon, what do you know about these men? Are they straight? Are they financially reliable?”

“Bless my responsibility!” was the reply. “As far as I know they’re all right. Thompson is the only one I know, and that but slightly; but my impression is that he has slathers of money. They’ve got to have some money or they wouldn’t be able to lease those oil lands they were telling us about.”

“Of course, that doesn’t mean such an outlay as it may seem on the surface,” said Ned thoughtfully. “They can lease all the farmland they want at a dollar an acre. The farmer is perfectly willing to let it go for that, for he wins any way. If oil isn’t found on his land he still has his property, and the dollar an acre is pure velvet. If it is found, he is allowed by law a royalty of one-eighth of the profit from the well or wells.”

“How do you come to know so much about it?” asked Tom, in some surprise. “I thought that your head was so full of figures that you didn’t have much time for anything else. Haven’t been investing in oil stocks, have you?” he added laughingly.

“Not exactly,” answered Ned. “But you can’t take up the papers nowadays without finding a lot about oil in them. There was a time when cotton was king. A little later steel was king. But to-day oil is king. Who’s the richest man in the world to-day? An oil man. What’s at the bottom of half the squabbles between nations nowadays? The fight for the possession of oil fields. England wants control of the oil fields in Persia and Mesopotamia. The Dutch are shutting out all foreigners from the Djambi fields. Soviet Russia expects to get enough money from her oil-well concessions to run the Government. So it goes all over the world. Oil is king. Look at the demand for it. See how automobiles are being manufactured by the millions. See how it has taken the place of coal for fuel in our own battleships and the great ocean liners. See how the great office buildings in various cities are using it in place of coal.”

“There’s millions in it, eh?” laughed Tom.

“Billions, trillions,” corrected Ned. “But now let’s get down to brass tacks and look over these specifications. Something tells me that we’ve got to watch our step in dealing with these men. Of course, they may be all right at that, but——” and he left his sentence unfinished.

“I don’t care much for that fellow Hankinshaw for a fact,” remarked Tom. “Once or twice I’d have liked to throw him out of the room.”

“He a little bit more than annoyed me, too,” assented Ned. “I wish he’d get another brand of tobacco.”

“Bless my appetite!” remarked Mr. Damon, as he looked at his watch. “I’ll be late for dinner and let myself in for a scolding. So long, folks,” and with a hurried handshake he was off.

Left to themselves, Tom, his father, and Ned put their heads together in close study of the specifications for the oil-well machinery. Although Mr. Swift had not been physically strong for years, his mind was as keen as ever and he was of invaluable service to the others, both of whom valued his opinion highly.

They sat long in conference, which was interrupted by dinner, to which Ned stayed. After the meal another hour of discussion ensued, at the end of which they had a pretty clear idea of the terms they would offer to the oil prospectors. There were some details left for Ned to look up on the following day, including an investigation as to the financial standing of the oil men, but the main features of their offer were practically settled.

“Well, that’s that,” remarked Tom, as Ned rose to go. “Wait a minute, Ned, and I’ll get out the car and drop you at your house. I’m going up your way, anyhow.”

“Yes,” said Ned drily, as he looked out of the window. “I notice that it’s a beautiful moonlight night. And I remember that Mary Nestor lives on the same street just a little way beyond our house.”

“What an acute mind you have,” laughed Tom. “I’d hate to have you on my trail if I’d committed a crime. Come along now and don’t be envious.”

It is possible that Mary Nestor had noticed too that it was a beautiful moonlight night and barely possible that the thought had occurred to her that a certain young inventor might happen along that way. What is certain is that she was dressed most becomingly, that her cheeks had a pink flush in them, and that her eyes were uncommonly bright as she opened the door in response to his ring.

“Why, Tom, what a pleasant surprise,” she said.

“It’s too fine a night to be indoors, Mary,” said Tom, as he held her hand a little longer than was absolutely necessary. “What do you say to a spin along the lake road? Just for an hour or so.”

“I’ll be glad to,” answered Mary. “Come into the living room and see father and mother for a moment while I get my hat on.”

She ushered him into the room and then ran upstairs while Tom greeted her parents. He was a great favorite with them, and they welcomed him warmly. They chatted together for a few minutes until Mary came down. Then, with a promise not to be gone too long, the young people went out to the car.

The moonlight flooded the roads, making them almost as bright as in the day. There was just a light breeze that blew little wisps of hair about Mary’s face in a way that made her seem more bewitching than ever. It was a night when it was good to be young and to be alive.

“On such a night——” murmured Tom, as the car purred smoothly along.

“Going to quote Shakespeare?” inquired Mary mischievously.

“Not exactly,” laughed Tom. “Mary,” he said, “listen. I——”

But what he wanted Mary to listen to could not be told at the moment, for just then a big touring car came plunging around a bend in the road and came tearing down toward them.