"Torchy," goes on Mr. Robert, "you have the floor."

For a second or so, though, I felt like spreadin' out so I wouldn't slip
through a crack. All of a sudden too, my mouth had gone dry and I had a
panicky notion that my brain had ossified. Then I got a glimpse of them
shrewd blue eyes of Rowley's smilin' encouragin' at me, the first few
sentences of my speech filtered back through the bone, I got my tongue
movin', and I was off.

Funny how you can work out of a scare that way, ain't it? Why, say, the
first thing I knew I'd picked out old D. K. Rutgers, the worst fish-face
in the bunch, and was throwin' the facts into him like I was shovelin'
coal into a cellar chute. Beginnin' with Rowley's plan for condensin'
commercial acids from the blast fumes, explainin' the chemical process
that produced 'em, and how they could be caught on the fly and canned in
carboys for the trade, I galloped through the whole proposition, backin'
up every item with figures and formulas; until I showed 'em how the slag
that now cost 'em so much to get rid of could be sold for road
ballastin' and pressed into buildin' blocks at a profit of twenty
dollars a ton. I didn't let anything go just by statin' it bald. I took
Briscoe's objections one by one, shot 'em full of holes with the
come-backs Rowley had coached me on, and then proceeded to clinch the
argument until I had old Rutgers noddin' his head.

"And these, Gentlemen," I winds up with, "are what Mr. Briscoe calls the
vague, half-baked ideas of an unpractical inventor. He's an expert, Mr.
Briscoe is! I'm not. I wouldn't know a supersaturated solution of
methylcalcites from a stein of Hoboken beer; but I'm willin' to believe
there's big money in handling either, providing you don't spill too much
on the inside. Mr. Rowley claims you're throwing away millions a year.
He says he can save it for you. He wants to show you how you can juggle
ore so you can save everything but the smell. He's here on the spot, and
if you want to quiz him about details, go as deep as you like."

Did they? Say, that seance didn't break up until six-fifteen, and before
the board adjourns Rowley had a whackin' big option check in his fist,
and a resolution had gone through to install an experiment plan as soon
as it could be put up. An hour before that Willis G. Briscoe had done
the silent sneak, wearin' his mouth droopy.

Mr. Robert meets me outside with the fraternal grip and says he's proud
of me.

"Thanks, M