"Gifford has asked us to change the late messages. Here's what he wants." Dan pulled a piece of paper from his shirt pocket and unfolded it. "Over 30 days, this; 60 days, this; 90 days, here." He circled the numbers and underlined the messages.
"O.K.," Oliver said. "Where's the documentation?"
"We don't have much," Dan said. "The original stuff is on that shelf over there."
"Ah," Oliver said. He pulled at one ear lobe. "What language are we talking?"
"RPG II."
"O.K." Oliver groaned inwardly. He'd have to get a book. RPG was supposedly the worst language ever devised. First time for everything. "No problem." That was one thing about being a professional; he knew he could do it. "Might take a while to get started . . ."
"Good! Good! We want it done right." Dan rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. He was in his early forties, medium-sized, balding, energetic. "Let me know if you have any questions. We don't work on Saturdays. Did Gifford tell you that?"
"Yes."
"Good! I'll get you a door key in case you have to get in here after hours. We lock the computer room at night."
"Dan, could you come here a moment?"