"Look Sam. Let's not stall. I want in and I'm going to—"
"One minute, Mr. Britton. I'll have to call."
Dusty grunted. "I want to see Doctor Ross."
"Oh. Well, just a minute."
The guard called, and Dusty could hear the roar of Martin Gramer, "Throw the louse out!"
"Sorry, Mr. Britton. We can't let you in."
"Look, Sam, I've got trouble. You've got trouble. Do you remember your younger days, Sam? When you were the top boy at Graphic Arts?"
"Sure do. Great days, too."
"What happened, Sam?"
The smile faded from Sam's face. "I got too old."