"Oh, rats! I'm sick of hearing everybody talking about an idea. All these fellows in here think that Kenneth Gregory can't make a mistake. They think that nobody else could have done what he did."
"That's what you want fellows to think who are working for you, isn't it?" ventured McCoy.
Dickie gasped. Had McCoy too fallen a victim to hero-worship? McCoy, who had been her loyal friend, and servant? She determined to find out to what extent he had transferred his allegiance.
"Do you think Mr. Gregory did any more than I could have done?" she flashed.
McCoy endeavored to temporize. "Well, in a way he didn't," he said, "and then again he did. You see——"
But Dickie refused to see. Whirling angrily, she walked rapidly toward the office. Anything to get away from hearing Gregory's praises chanted from every lip. Better be with the idol himself than his devout followers. She flung open the door and entered the office. Gregory faced her with a smile. A self-satisfied smile, the girl thought. In his hand was a paper.
"Look at that," he exclaimed. "My idea has worked out a lot better than I anticipated."
Dickie glanced coldly at the sheet but made no effort to take it from his hand. Looking him full in the eye, she observed:
"I'm about caught up with that idea of yours. I don't see that there is anything in it to cause any one to get the swelled-head."