The Journal said: "Well, all the regulars are in—controller, vice con and deputy vice con. But there also happens to be among those present—the chief stabilizer."
"No!"
He nodded and the others nodded. "Fact. The C-S himself. Came up by pneumatic from Washington."
I said: "Oh, mamma! Five'll get you ten they're digging up Atlantis this time."
The Record shook his head. "The C-S didn't wear a digging look."
Just then the door to the main office shoved open and the C-S came thundering out. I'm not exaggerating. Old Groating had a face like Moses, beard and all, and when he frowned, which was now, you expected lightning to crackle from his eyes. He breezed past the table with just one glance from the blue quartz he's got for eyes, and all our legs came down with a crash. Then he shot out of the room so fast I could hear his rep tunic swish with quick whistling sounds.
After him came the controller, the vice con and the deputy vice con, all in single file. They were frowning, too, and moving so rapidly we had to jump to catch the deputy. We got him at the door and swung him around. He was short and fat and trouble didn't sit well on his pudgy face. It made him look slightly lop-sided.
He said: "Not now, gentlemen."
"Just a minute, Mr. Klang," I said, "I don't think you're being fair to the press."
"I know it," the deputy said, "and I'm sorry, but I really cannot spare the time."