The Impossible Godiva

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Brother, it was fine. I’d been in love with Ellicia Hunter a long time. I’d even run around with her crowd a little. I made dough as ranking chemical engineer in her father’s outfit and took her out when I could spare the sleep. But I had never asked her to marry me. You know why. She was a rich gal, and, comparatively, the dough I had earned was so much peanuts.

But don’t think I’m sounding noble. All the time I’d had ace in the hole, a honey of a new process I’d been working on. Then came the day that I sold the process to old man Hunter for a quarter-of-a-million dollars, plus royalties, plus a few hundred shares in the corporation. I held out for those shares right to the very last. It was sort of the finishing touch.

When the meeting of the board of directors broke up in the walnut-panelled room with its long conference table, the well-fed members of the board let their eyes soften and pounded me on the back. They said as how my process was going to revolutionize the manufacture of plastics and how the corporation was going to make millions out of it.

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