Quay whistled. “Even at ten, at the wage we're paying—”
“Never settle for quarters or thirds,” Cutter said. “Get the whole thing. Send for Bolen. I want to talk to him. And in the meantime, Bob, this is such a goddamned sweet morning, what do you say we go to lunch early?”
Quay blinked only once, which proved his adaptability. Cutter had just asked him to lunch, as though it were their habit to lunch together regularly, when in reality, Quay had never once gone to lunch with Cutter before. Quay was quite nonchalant, however, and he said, “Why, fine, George. I think that's a good idea.”
Bolen appeared in Cutter's office the next morning, smiling, his eyes darting quickly about Cutter's desk and walls, so that Cutter felt,
for a moment, that showing Bolen anything as personal as his office, was a little like letting the man look into his brain.
“Quay tells me you've set ten percent as the top efficiency increase we can count on, Bolen.” Cutter said it directly, to the point.
Bolen smiled, examining Cutter's hands and suit and eyes. “That's right, Mr. Cutter.”
“Why?”
Bolen placed his small hands on his lap, looked at the tapered fingers, then up again at Cutter. He kept smiling. “It's a matter of saturation.”
“How in hell could ten percent more efficiency turn into saturation?”