Her face flushed. “I’m running this office.”
“And I’m running Fischler’s office. What’s the use of going to all the trouble making a plant if a man comes in the door and sees a secretary writing letters on the stationery of B. Cool — Confidential Investigations?”
“Well, I can’t have her sitting over there twiddling her thumbs, doing nothing. I’m paying her a salary. I have work that has to go out.”
“Get another girl,” I said, “and charge it to expenses.”
“Expenses nothing. I’m not going to trade with you. You take this girl over there, and I’ll have Elsie come back here.”
“Okay, if you say so.”
“Well, I say so.”
“You’re the boss.”
She waited for me to argue, and I didn’t argue.
“Well, what’s wrong with it?” she demanded.