Five minutes later:
"Of course I love you, baby doll," George said weakly. In a semi-circle around him stood Meddlin' Maude, Mr. Zungenspiel, Mr. Perkins, Arlene, and an assortment of lesser office authorities. "Just don't touch that pressure cooker till I get home, dammit. It's dangerous."
"I can only do my best, George," Rosy said with hard finality. "If that's not good enough for you, darling"—she choked on a sob—"well, I'm sorry."
The phone clicked and the wire went dead.
A dozen faces bent over him. "George," Meddlin' Maude said, raising her sharp pencil.
"Just a minute, Miss Doody," said Mr. Zungenspiel. "Young man, would you step into my office when you have a free moment?"
"If you see Charlie before they fire you," Arlene said, "tell him I left a telegram on his desk."
"George," Miss Doody shrilled, her sharp pencil raised, "did you or did you not tell me to go to hell?"
Charlie crashed through the crowd, waving a telegram. "Look at this, George!"