Lennox could have backed out and disappeared unnoticed; instead he thrust the dressing room door wide. The knob struck the dummy and knocked it to the floor. Everyone twisted around and saw him. Instantly they seemed to close ranks. Even the dummy shifted its eyes malevolently. Lennox looked them over insolently, daring them to attack. They attacked,
"Ask him!" Mason cried. "Ask him! He wrote it. He's supposed to know all the answers. The Thinker!"
"It's his fault," Irma said.
"Where the hell you been?" Grabinett blurted. "You know what happened? If you'd been around tonight we wouldn't be in this jam."
"You got one hell of a nerve writing a lousy show like this for my property," Tooky Ween growled, "I want a new writer hired."
"You don't need a writer," Lennox snapped. "You need an education. And don't try to rap me for that skyscraper fiasco. F-I-A-S-C-O. I voted for Rear-Projection at the conference."
"You can't get laugh values with projection," the agent rumbled. "You got to pin-point my boy on a genuine set."
"And what happened on the genuine set? Lennox eyed Mason coldly. You dropped the dummy? For laugh values?"
"They never gave me a chance to rehearse the chimney," Mason wept. "When I got halfway down with the bag of presents and I say to Diggy: Hey Diggy! This ain't the right chimney. It smells wrong. And Diggy says...."
From the floor the dummy cackled: "Better get your paddle out, Mig. You're up the creek."