Charlie Jingle looked across the room to the secretary. "What?" he asked.
"Would you go in please, Mister Jingle?"
Charlie followed the direction of the girl's gesture to a panel in the wall. He got up and started to cross suspiciously toward it. As he slowed down, nearing it, he looked back at her, and she smiled and encouraged him on sympathetically toward the doorless wall. Just as Charlie thought It'd be funny if I break my nose on that goddam wall ... the panel swung in quietly.
Charlie walked through it into a room. In it there was another veldt of rug, at the far end of which was a bar, a lounge chair, a tremendous sofa, and a low, knee-high table. The walls were decorated with modern paintings in a colorful, tasteful, executive way. Standing near the knee-high table were three men, one distinguished looking, the other two looking as if they'd stepped out of a Young Collegiate Magazine ad.
The elegant one crossed to Charlie, his face a big, pleasant, well-groomed smile, hand extended.
"Allow me, Mister Jingle. I'm Kort Gassel. These two gentlemen are Jerome Rupp and Eugene White. Would you like a drink, Mister Jingle?"
Charlie Jingle shook their hands and sat down, crossing his legs comfortably.
"You got gin, Mister ahhh—"
"Gassel," said Kort Gassel, and crossed the three feet to the bar. "Soda?" he asked.
"Straight," said Charlie Jingle, and watched the other two sit down slowly as Gassel came back with his drink.