"Oh, that was it!" Burnham accepted the explanation with distinct relief, while Duncan, who had been an unregarded spectator, suddenly found cause to retire behind one of the show-cases on important business. So that was the explanation!... After his paroxysm had subsided and he felt able to control his facial muscles, Duncan emerged, suave and solemn. Roland had disappeared with Blinky, and Burnham was alone. "Anything you wish, sir?" asked Nat. "Only to see Mr. Graham." "He's out just at present, but I think he'll be back in a moment or so. Will you wait? You'll find that chair comfortable, I think." "Believe I will," said Burnham with an air. He seated himself. "I can't wait long, though," he amended. "Yes, sir. And if you'll excuse me----?" Burnham's hand dismissed him with a tolerant wave. "Go right on about your business," he said with supreme condescension. And Duncan returned to his work in the backyard. It wasn't long before he found occasion to go back to the store, and by that time old Sam was there in conversation with Burnham. Neither noticed Nat as he entered, and to begin with he paid them little heed, being occupied with his task of depositing an armful of bottles without mishap and then placing them on the shelves. The hum of their voices from the other side of the counter struck an indifferent ear while he busied himself, but presently a word or phrase caught his interest, and he found himself listening, at first casually, then with waxing attention. "That's part of my business," he heard Burnham say in his sleek, oleaginous accents. "Sometimes I pick up an odd no-'count contraption that makes me a bit of money, and more times I'm stung and lose on it. It's all a gamble, of course, and I'm that way--like to take a gambling chance on anything that strikes my fancy--like that burner of yours." "Yes," Graham returned: "the gas arrangement." "It's a curious idea--quite different from the one I told you about; but I kinda took to it. There might be something to it, and again there mightn't. I've been thinking I might be willing to risk a few dollars on it, if we could come to terms." "Do you mean it, really?" said old Sam eagerly. "Not to invest in it, so to speak; I don't think it's chances are strong enough for that. But if you'd care to sell the patent outright and aren't too ambitious, we might make a dicker. What d'you say?" "Why, yes," said Graham, quivering with anticipation. "Yes, indeed, if--" "Well?" "If you really think it's worth anything, sir." "Well, as I say, there's no telling; but I was thinking about it at dinner, and I sort of concluded I'd like to own that burner, so I made out a little bill of sale, and I says to myself, says I: 'If Graham will take five hundred dollars for that patent, I'll give him spot cash, right in his hand,' says I." With this Burnham tipped back in his chair, and brought forth a wallet from which he drew a sheet of paper and several bills.