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Updated: May 22, 2025
"When I get ready for a merger of the Brightlight with the Consolidated I'll tell you about it; and also I'll tell you the terms," Bobby advised him with a snap, and for the first time Mr. Sharpe noted what a good jaw Bobby had. "I should think," hesitated Sharpe, "that in the present condition of the Brightlight almost any terms would be attractive to you.
Burnit, he can get along a great deal better without you than you can without him, as you are probably willing to admit by now. But he still wants you. Go and see Stone." "On what terms will the Consolidated now absorb the Brightlight?" demanded Bobby sternly.
On the day Bobby got the money for his Westmarsh property old Applerod came up from the office of the Brightlight Electric Company, where he held a lazy, sleepy afternoon job as "manager," and with an ingratiating smile handed Bobby a check for five thousand dollars. "What's this for?" asked Bobby, puzzled.
Frank L. Sharpe had entertained a notable box party at the Orpheum, the night before, consisting of Samuel Stone, William Garland and Robert Burnit, the latter of whom, it was rumored, was soon to be identified with the larger financial affairs of the city, having already contracted to purchase a controlling interest in the Brightlight Electric Company.
This is the way I figure the dope. They've framed it up to dump the Brightlight Electric, and you're the fall guy. So wear pads in your derby, because the first thing you know the hammer's going to drop on your coco." "How do you find out so much, Biff?" returned Bobby, smiling. "By sleeping seven hours a day in place of twenty-four.
Vengefulness was in Bobby's eyes as he followed Trimmer's sprawling figure, so much like a bloated spider's in its bigness of circumference and its attenuation of limbs, that suddenly he shuddered and turned away as when one finds oneself about to step upon a toad. At the offices of the New Brightlight Electric Company there was universal rejoicing.
How are you coming out with the Brightlight Electric Company? I have been dying to ask you about it." "I have a telephone in my office," he reminded her. "I am completely ignoring that ungenerous suggestion," she replied. "It wasn't sportsmanlike," he penitently admitted.
"We need both those companies," calmly explained Sharpe, "and we don't need the Brightlight." "Is that figure the best you will do?" "Under the circumstances, yes." "Very well then," said Bobby; "good day." "By the way, Mr. Burnit," Sharpe said to him with a return of the charming smile which had been conspicuously absent on this occasion, "we needn't consider the talk entirely closed as yet.
I understand that you have the necessary amount, and here is the proposition I offer you. Brightlight stock is now quoted at a hundred and seventy-two. We will double its present capitalization, and you may take up the extra two hundred and fifty thousand dollars' worth of its stock at par, or about three-fifths of its actual value. That is a bargain to be snapped at, Mr. Burnit."
Scales was in charge. The straightening out of the waterworks matter left Bobby free to turn his attention to the local gas and electric situation. The Bulletin, since Bobby had defeated his political enemies, had been put upon a paying basis and was rapidly earning its way out of the debt that he had been compelled to incur for it; but the Brightlight Electric Company was a thorn in his side.
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