“Now, what is all this about?”
“Well, I’m darned sorry about this, Mason, but we just can’t take any more of your stuff.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
He twiddled with his glass, and he wouldn’t meet my eye, “It’s nothin’ to do with me,” he explained hastily. “I’ve had instructions from the old man.”
I sat back and let that one sink in. As I didn’t say anything, he went on, “I guess you’ve got yourself in bad somehow. The old man’s put the bar up.”
“Did he say why?”
Johnson shook his head. “He just sent me a note. You know the type of note he sends out: ‘Mr. Hawkins’s compliments, and do not accept any further work from Mr. Nick Mason.’”
I shrugged. “I guess he’s gone nuts,” I said. “Here, have another drink.”
We got through the meal somehow and then Johnson took himself off. I could see he was mighty glad to get shot of me. I stayed on after he’d gone and thought about things. Then I paid the bill and went over to a telephone-booth. I rang the press-room and asked for Ackie.
“Listen, Ackie, am I barred?”