Burton looked him coldly in the eyes. Mr. Bomford did not please him.
"The story is perfectly true," he said. "There is not the slightest necessity for you to believe it--in fact, so far as I am concerned, it does not matter in the least whether you do or not."
"Mr. Burton," the professor interposed, "I beg that you will not misunderstand Mr. Bomford. His is not a militant disbelief, it is simply a case of suspended judgment. In the meantime, assuming the truth of what you have told us--and I for one, you must remember, Mr. Burton, have every faith in your story--assuming its truth, Mr. Bomford has made a most interesting proposition."
Burton, with half-closed eyes, was listening to the singing of a thrush and watching the sunshine creep through the dark foliage of the cedar trees. He was only slightly interested.
"Precisely," Mr. Cowper assented. "We have an appeal to make to you, an appeal on behalf of science, an appeal on behalf of your fellow-creatures, an appeal on behalf of yourself. Your amazing experience is one which should be analyzed and given to the world."
"What you want, I suppose," Burton remarked, "is one of my beans."
"Exactly," the professor admitted, eagerly.
"I have already," Burton said, "done my best to make you understand my feelings in this matter. Those beans represent everything to me. Nothing would induce me to part with a single one."
"We can understand that," the professor agreed. "We are approaching you with regard to them in an altogether different manner. Mr. Bomford is a man of business. It is our wish to make you an offer."
"You mean that you would like to buy one?"
"Precisely," the professor replied. "We are prepared to give you, between us, a thousand pounds for one of those beans."
Burton shook his head. The conversation appeared to be totally devoid of interest to him.
"A thousand pounds," he said, "is, I suppose, a great deal of money. I have never owned so much in my life. But money, after all, is only valuable for what it can buy. Each one of my beans means two months, perhaps more, of real life. No money could buy that."
"My young friend," the professor insisted solemnly, "you are looking at this matter from a selfish point of view. Experiences such as you have passed through, belong to the world. You are merely the agent, the fortunate medium, through which they have materialized."