"You'll forgive a certain surprise, Miss Stern," he ventured. "I've read Surprising for so many years and never thought...."
Manning Stern grinned. "That the editor was also surprising? I'm used to it—your reaction, I mean. I don't think I'll ever be quite used to being a woman ... or a human being, for that matter."
"Isn't it rather unusual? From what I know of the field...."
"Please God, when I find a man who can write, don't let him go all male-chauvinist on me! I'm a good editor," said she with becoming modesty (and don't you ever forget it!), "and I'm a good scientist. I even worked on the Manhattan Project—until some character discovered that my adopted daughter was a Spanish War orphan. But what we're here to talk about is this consistent-scheme gimmick of yours. It's all right, of course; it's been done before. But where I frankly think you're crazy is in planning to do it exclusively."
Norbert Holt opened his briefcase. "I've brought along an outline that might help convince you...."
An hour later Manning Stern glanced at her watch and announced, "End of office hours! Care to continue this slugfest over a martini or five? I warn you—the more I'm plied, the less pliant I get."
And an hour after that she stated, "We might get some place if we'd stay some place. I mean the subject seems to be getting elusive."
"The hell," Norbert Holt announced recklessly, "with editorial relations. Let's get back to the current state of the opera."
"It was paintings. I was telling you about the show at the—"
"No, I remember now. It was movies. You were trying to explain the Marx Brothers. Unsuccessfully, I may add."