"Thank you. Then I have the floor. Thayer, I never believe in talking about people behind their backs, so I look you squarely in the eye and ask you if you ever realize that you don't amount to much, after all."
"Who told you?"
"Nobody. I evolved it."
"I didn't know you were a critic."
"I'm not, nor yet an interpreting artist. I create."
"What, I should like to know!" This was from Sally.
"Scareheads. I do them. If that's not creating, I should like to know what is. They never have any connection with facts."
"What is your grievance?" Thayer asked languidly.
"I was just getting to that. As I say, I create. You only interpret. I don't know as it counts that you don't try to interpret my scareheads, though some of them would make stunning fugues. Take the last one, for instance: Billions at Stake: Potato Corner in Prospect. You could work up something fine from that, Thayer. Think of the chest tones you could throw into the single word Potato!"
"Bobby, you are growing discursive," his cousin reminded him.