V.R. rose from his desk and wagged a finger at the other. "I still don't understand it all, Wheeler. But I can't avoid the impression that you're somehow responsible for the mess."
Wheeler cowered.
"You're going to take a trip—now!" V.R. went on, gathering steam. "You're going to deliver a bather personally to this Potentate McWorther. You're going to extend the apologies of the entire Rear-Sobucks organization!"
IV
Titus poured his tenth consecutive julep—directly from the bottle, without the benefit of ice, sugar or mint—and leaned back in his chair. His occupancy of a corner of the veranda had been a hard-won concession.
Almost indifferent now, he stared at the hundreds of virtuosos and shouted, "Go home!"
