"Go ahead and think!" growled the Billionaire. "Think and be hanged to
you! _I'm_ going to act!"

Waldron vouchsafed no reply, but merely eyed his partner with cold
interest, as though he were some biological specimen under a lens, and
smoked the while.

Flint, however, turned to his telephone and pulled it toward him, over
the big sheet of plate glass. Impatiently he took off the receiver and
held it up to his ear.

"Hello, hello! 2438 John!" he exclaimed, in answer to the query of
"Number, please?"

Silence, a moment, while Waldron slowly drew at his cigar and while the
Billionaire tugged with impatience at his gray mustache.

"Hello! That you, Herzog?"

* * * * *

"All right. I want to see you at once. Immediately, understand?"

* * * * *

"Very well. And say, Herzog!"

"Bring whatever literature you have on liquid air, nitrogen extraction
from the atmosphere, and so on. Understand? And come at once!"