George had talked it all over with Rosy and she agreed. Sure, it was all right for them—for the time being. But George had begun to despise himself.
He had to keep sharp control over the snookers. Some of them showed a tendency to sneak off course, looking for some nice fresh target—like the chateau, maybe.
The butler came in and presented a calling card on a silver platter.
"Vernher! Show him in at once."
Vernher von Wissenschaft marched in, cracking his Rommel whip. He looked worried.
"Bad news," Vernher said, shaking hands. "Chust come from the President."
"How is Charlie?"
"Goot. But too much work. And trouble. These snookers." Vernher strode to the window and looked out over the town.
"They're doing a fine job," George assured him.
Vernher turned. A grim smile slashed his face. "Too goot. Russian economy caught up with ours. They vant snookers too. Must have snookers or they go kaput."