"Exactly that! Can't, and won't!"
"Wanna bet?"
"If you try to—"
Charlie Jingle got up from his seat.
"Gassel ... I've been in this racket so long I've got oil in my veins instead of blood, and a Reflex-Pattern Analysis for a brain. I know every angle there is to know. If I want a fight, I'll get one. So don't go try putting your big business pressure on me. I'm too old for college-boy antics."
Kort Gassel stared at him for a long, hostile moment. Then his face broke into a smile.
"My friend, do you know what you're bucking? These are the offices of Pugilists Incorporated you're in. Don't you realize what that means?"
"Sure," said Charlie Jingle. "It means that if Tanker Bell whips Iron-Man Pugg, Charlie Jingle will one day have as big a factory and as many orders for Fighting-Machines as Pug, Inc...."
Charlie Jingle crossed the desert of rug toward the exit-panel.
"See you at Ring-side, Kids." And he went out.