This went on until the end of the third week, at which point Destiny, operating through the agency of Mr. Andrew Gillespie, took a hand in their commingled affairs.
Gillespie, coming in off the lot to the head offices, was pleasantly excited over his new notion. He revealed it with no preamble:
“Say, you two, I’ve got an idea for livening up that big fight scene a little bit.”
The executive head gave a grunt which terminated in a groan. He craved to swear; but not even Mr. M. Lobel, of Lobel’s Superfilms, Inc., dared swear now. Employees whose salaries ranged above a certain figure might be groaned at but could not, with impunity, be sworn at. The ethics forbade it; also such indulgence might result in the loss of a desired director or a popular star. And Gillespie appertained to the polar list of the high salaried. So Mr. Lobel merely groaned.
“What’s the matter?” asked Gillespie sharply.
“Nothing, nothing at all, only I am thinking,” rejoined Mr. Lobel, with sorrowful resignation. “I am thinking that only two days ago right here in this very room you promised me that positively without a question you would keep down the expensives from now on on this here dam’ costume production which already it has run up into money something frightful.”
“Who said I was going to spend any more money?”
“An idea you just mentioned, Gillespie,” stated Mr. Lobel, “and with you I got to say it that ideas are usually always expensive.”
“This thing won’t cost anything—it won’t cost a cent over a couple of hundred for salary, costumes, props and all, if it costs that much. And it’ll put a little note of newness, a kind of different touch into that battle scene; that’s what I’m counting on.”