"I've seen it happen," Charlie said bitterly. "People getting so deep in debt they start snubbing their more solvent friends."
When Arlene dropped the noon mail on George's desk he sat dreaming. More insurance, more credit; more credit, more debt; more debts, more prestige. He sat up with a start and dialed Rosy.
This time she answered and all was fine. She'd spent the morning in the supermart filling out contest entry blanks and buying a big roast for the pressure cooker.
"Oh, George, it's a wonderful pressure cooker. It looks like a space ship, with bolts and portholes and all."
"I don't want you to—"
"And it's got a remote control panel or something, with all kinds of buttons and blinkers. Timmy just loves it!"
"Is Timmy anywhere near it?"
"He's in it. It's a big one."
Arlene came by his desk. "Where's Charlie?" she asked. "I got a telegram for him."