Without waiting for his retort she went on to Isadore's desk.
"Here's a note from Stringer," he said as a greeting.
She tore it open listlessly.
"Well! That's a nervy piece of business," she said, throwing it into the waste-paper basket. "Electing me without asking my consent."
"Won't you serve?"
"No."
Isadore leaned back in his swivel chair and puffed nervously at his cigarette.
"Don't you think the job's worth doing?"
"It's worth doing well—but not like this."