"Which one?" she mocked.
"Shut up," he blurted, touched in a tender spot, "and try to figure out some way for us to get hold of some money."
"You must think I'm Einstein," she said, coming up and perching herself on the edge of his desk.
"Well, if we don't get some operating expenses I won't be able to obtain money to pay your salary," he warned.
"The old songs are the best songs," she wisecracked.
"Oh, come now, Violet," he remonstrated, pawing her buttock, "let's be serious."
"After all these years!" she declared, switching away.
In desperation, he eased his bulk out of the creaking swivel chair, reached for his hat and overcoat and shuffled out of the office. He walked to the curb to hail a taxicab but reconsidered when he recalled that a worn half-dollar was the extent of his funds. Sighing heavily, he trudged the two blocks to the telegraph office and sent a long day letter to Henry Givens, Imperial Grand Wizard of the Knights of Nordica—collect.
"Well, have you figured it out?" asked Violet when he barged into his office again.
"Yes, I just sent a wire to Givens," he replied.