He kept it up for ten minutes and, to tell you the truth, I began to wish that I'd made some better use of Pudge Detweiler's cab fare. The Greek looked as though he'd flipped, nothing less.
But there I was. So I waited.
And by and by he seemed to get whatever it was he was looking for and he stopped, breathing heavily.
I said, "Hi there, Greek."
He looked up sharply. "Oh," he said, "Old Virgie."
He slumped back against a table, trying to catch his breath.
"The little devils," he panted. "They must have thought they'd got away that time. But I fixed them!"
"Sure you did," I said. "You bet you did. Mind if I come in?"
He shrugged. Ignoring me, he put down the toaster on a stick, flipped some switches and stood up. A whining sound dwindled and disappeared; some flickering lights went out. Others remained on, but he seemed to feel that, whatever it was he was doing, it didn't require his attention now.
In his own good time, he came over and we shook hands. I said appreciatively, "Nice-looking laboratory you have here, Greek. I don't know what the stuff is for, but it looks expen—it looks very efficient."