Brandon picked up the pen, twisted it between his fingers. Evans was right, of course. He would be useful. Half those damn forms were filled with worthless nonsense that could easily be eliminated. Deductions should be higher; small, independent business should be given a break. And he could handle the job—that was important.
"Just sign on the bottom line," Evans said smoothly, pushing the broken puppet out of the way.
The puppet fell to the floor and the head came off again. "Forget it," Evans said quickly.
Brandon studied the other man's face before he reached over and picked up the little figure. It was a funny creature with a large, silly-looking balloon nose. Brandon handled it tenderly, looking at it thoughtfully. Finally he said: "My puppets. What happens to them?"
"I don't understand?"
"Children enjoy them," Brandon answered.
"I'm afraid you don't understand, Brandon," Evans shook his head. "I'm offering you a full-time position. You can make them—as a hobby of course—give them away, but you can't sell them. That would give you an income again, mean more tax forms."