"Ah, well," Jamieson said. "They're all the same ... marriage, you know, and a happy home, with jolly children. They soon find out that it's better to let hubby do the reporting.... Hullo, young man Trinder, what do you want?" he said, breaking off as the pink-faced secretary stood in the doorway.
"You're wanted," Trinder said, nodding to Humphrey.
"Me!" said Humphrey. "What's up?"
"Ferrol wants you."
"My word!" said Willoughby. "Are you going to be sacked, or is your salary to be raised?"
"Our blessings on you," cried Jamieson, as he followed Trinder out of the room, upstairs, and along the corridor to Ferrol's door.
Ferrol stood with his hat and coat on waiting for him.
"Oh, Quain," he said, shortly. "Get your things and come along. I want to talk to you."
Humphrey paused, bewildered. "Hurry up," said Ferrol. He took his watch from his pocket, glanced at it, and clicked its case hurriedly. "I've got to be back here at ten."
"Very well, sir," said Humphrey. He ran back to the reporters' room, and gathered together his hat and his coat and his stick.