“You’re right, Wally,” answered the Billionaire.  “If this works out on a large scale, in all its details—­well—­I needn’t impress its importance on you!”

Yielding to the influence of the wonderful, life-giving gas, the rather close air of the laboratory, contaminated by a variety of chemical odors, and vitiated by its recent loss of oxygen, had begun to freshen and purify itself in an astonishing manner.  One would have thought that through an open window, close at hand, the purest ocean breeze was blowing.  A faint tinge of color began to liven the somewhat pasty cheek of the Billionaire.  Waldron’s big chest expanded and his eye brightened.  Even the meek Herzog stood straighter and looked more the man, under the stimulus of the life-giving ozone.

“Fine!” exclaimed Flint, with unwonted enthusiasm, and nearly yielded to a laugh.  Waldron went so far as to slap Herzog on the shoulder.

“You’re some wizard, old man!” he exclaimed, with a warmth hitherto never known by him—­for already the subtle gas was beginning to intoxicate his senses.  “And you can handle nitrogen with the same ease and precision?”

“Exactly,” answered Herzog.  “This other vial contains pure nitrogen.  With enlarged apparatus, I can supply it by the trainload.  The world’s fertilizer problem is solved!”

“Great work!” ejaculated Waldron, even more excited than before, but Flint, his natural sourness asserting itself, merely growled some ungracious remark.

“Nitrogen can go hang,” said he.  “It’s oxygen we’re after, primarily.  Once we get our grip on that, the world will be—­”

Waldron checked him just in time.

“Enough of this,” he interrupted sharply.  “I admit, I’m not myself, in this rich atmosphere.  I know you’re feeling it, already, Flint.  Come along out of this, where we can regain our aplomb.  We’ve seen enough, for once.”

He turned to Herzog.

“For God’s sake, man,” cried he, “cork that magic bottle of yours, before all the oxygen-genii escape, or you’ll have us both under the table!  And, see here,” he added, pulling out his check-book, while Flint stared in amazed disgust.  “Here, take a blank check.”  He took his fountain pen and scrawled his name on one.  “The amount?  That’s up to you.  Now, let us out,” he bade, as Herzog stood there regarding the check with entire uncomprehension.  “Out, I say, before I get extravagant!”

Herzog, perfectly comprehending the magnates’ unusual conduct as due to oxygen-intoxication in its initial stage, made no comment, but walked to the door, spun the combination and flung it open.

“Glad to have had the pleasure of demonstrating the process to you, gentlemen,” said he.  “If you’re convinced it’s practicable, I’m at your orders for any larger extension of the work.  Have you any other question or suggestion?”

Neither magnate answered.  Flint was trying hard to hold his self-control.  Waldron, red-faced now and highly stimulated, looked as though he had been drinking even more than usual.