sell it for a fiver down on the nail, in the hand nowhe would, he would, he would—and so on. He hiccoughed and stumbled and slavered and lurched, but he stuck to his theme. His pockets were empty: his stomach craved for ale, he'd show 'em at the "Brown Bear" that he could buy beer if he wanted and as much as he wanted, for he'd a patent as would fetch money and he'd sell it now for a fiver and wouldn't Mr. Tugwell buy? "Five pounds . . . for a patent, eh, Tugwell?" By this time Tugwell was quite abreast of the proposal. He not only understood it but considered it. He realised he was being offered a bargain by a drunken man. Moreover, he knew Higgins—as did most Ganton folk. They had walked near to his mother's cottage and Amos said, "Come in and sit down a bit.” "Give us five pound. . . Come on . . . five pun-y-you c'n 'ave th' b-y pat'nt." Mrs. Tugwell lifted up her hands and said, as she saw him scrape over her threshold: "My steps! An' I cleaned 'em this morning." A drunken man on her clean steps! It was tragedy. But her son checked her with a look. Higgins went on with his offer but on being put on the sofa fell asleep. Then Amos told his mother. They looked at one another like two conspirators with a big prize ahead, but just a little afraid to touch it. "'E's clever, is Ralph 'Iggins," said Mrs. Tugwell seriously, fully abreast of the business now and mindless of steps and dirty footprints. "Might be worth thousands," whispered the son. "Hey! Her eyes emphasised the situation. "And if I don't get it, somebody else will." "Aye, somebody else will for sure-for sure. What a pity." She nodded. "Well, take it!" She had always gone for the immediately tangible. "Yes, but I want it fair-I mean I want it so as it's properly mine." "Aye. Can't you get somebody as knows. . . . 'Ow about Mester Ewins?" "Mr. Ewins?" "Aye. 'E's a cute un. 'E never buys what isn't worth buyin'. An' 'e won't pay too much. Go 'alves with 'im. Two pound ten apiece. . If it's worth owt, 'alves 'll be worth 'avin': an' you don't risk much." Amos considered. He didn't like to carry through the deal himself—perhaps a bit of scruple stood in his way, though a lack of daring was his principal hindrance. He was a patient climber, not a bold ad venturer. "Yes," he said, "I'll go and ask him.” "I'll watch 'im," said Mrs. Tugwell, and she nodded towards Higgins. Ewins, always suspicious, scoffed at first. As a rule good things were not given away, but then if this were a good thing. It would be a pity to miss the opportunity. And Higgins was clever and apparently drunk! Ewins went straight for victory. He saw Higgins asleep, got Mrs. Tugwell to bring in some beer, wakened Higgins, gave him to drink and then drained him of his patent for the sum of five pounds. Tugwell drew up the deed and did it quite well. Higgins was taken home in a cab-he lived in a little cottage by himself, a wretched affair of a home, but the world won't pile comforts round the drinking inventor-the model and specifications were given up and then he lay down and slept himself sober. That was the making of Ewins and Tugwell. They swore Higgins had signed away his patent when he was sober. Ewins pretended he acted out of kindness "who knew at the time if the thing was worth anythin' at all? These inventors talk, but everybody knows 'ow they talk!" The patent was one dealing with the trimmings for hats, and "Ewins and Tugwell" (new firm) exploited it. Ewins merged his old business in it and was the senior partner in the new firm, in which Tugwell put a little capital. Ewins had the money-scent and he saw certain profit in the exploitation of Ralph Higgins's patent. He was justified: Ewins and Tugwell prospered. |