Mr. Hope had never told Merkle about that. As a matter of fact the secretary was just getting ready to show Merkle that he didn’t figure in the scheme as largely as he thought he did. But first Mr. Hope wanted to be sure the chemist had finished his investigations. Now with the realization that Jimmy Rand, the originator of the idea, was, instead of being fired, apparently in a fair way of obtaining a most unlooked-for prestige with the company, Mr. Leffingwell Hope cursed himself for a fool. Whatever he was going to do must be done quickly. He would tell the idea as his own to the president at once; after that, just let them try to prove he hadn’t originated it! That same evening Mr. Leffingwell Hope called on the chemist in his laboratory. Mr. Merkle, it appeared, was quite ready to go to the president at any time Mr. Hope desired. He was indignant at the secretary’s implication that he had been laying down on the job. “Any time you could ask me now, I go to R. G. and show him absolutely how this plan works to save him big money. What more could I do, I ask you? I do my part—you ain’t done nothing yet that I can see.” “I’ll do enough,” said Mr. Leffingwell Hope. “Mr. Wentworth’s away,” he added. “He’ll be back Tuesday noon. We’ll see him Tuesday afternoon sure. About two o’clock. You’ll be there?” “Positively I’ll be there—two o’clock,” the chemist agreed. Mr. Hope hesitated. The time had come to show Merkle just where he stood. “Oh, Ike,” he began thoughtfully. “Now that we’re all ready, we might as well understand each other. As we agreed at the start, I’m to handle this thing absolutely, and I’m to give you ten per cent of all I make. Right?” The little chemist, his lower jaw dropping in astonishment, stared blankly at Mr. Hope. “Ten per cent of any stock they give me, or anything I make on the initial deal. That’s right, isn’t it?” It wasn’t right, and as soon as he recovered his power of speech, Mr. Merkle said so, in the most emphatic words he could think of. Fifty-fifty was what they had agreed. Mr. Hope, with an injured air, stated a remembrance of their first agreement that was totally at variance with what Mr. Merkle’s own memory told him were the facts. And he remained obdurate—ten per cent or nothing. Hadn’t he originated the plan? Wasn’t he prepared now to handle all the business details? If Mr. Merkle didn’t like the ten per cent he needn’t accept it; Mr. Hope would consult another technical man. The chemist, seeing that anger got him nothing, turned to appeal. He wheedled; he cajoled; he pleaded friendship—all to no avail. Ten per cent or nothing! Then Mr. Merkle, seeing he was beaten, suddenly capitulated. “You could make it ten per cent,” he said with a sigh. “But in writing; when you say it, with me it’s no good any more—that ain’t business.” And Mr. Hope, smiling triumphantly, wrote it out in due form.