Recoil
By George O. Smith
Illustrated by Orban
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Astounding Science-Fiction, November 1943.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Walter Franks sat in the director's office; his feet on the director's desk. He was smoking one of the director's cigarettes. He was drinking the director's liquor, filched shamelessly from the director's private filing cabinet where it reposed in the drawer marked "S." Drawer "B" would have given beer, but Walt preferred Scotch.
He leaned forward and tossed the director's cigarette into the director's wastebasket and then he pressed the button on the desk and looked up.
But it was not the director's secretary who entered. It was his own, but that did not disturb Franks. He knew that the director's secretary was off on Mars enjoying a honeymoon with the director.
Jeanne entered and smiled. "Must you call me in here to witness you wasting the company's time?" she asked in mock anger.