Andy sent a young Felician on the run for Blahrog, and retired to the storeroom of Blahrog's dwelling, which housed two fair-sized plastic barrels of Throatduster.
"But you have to try," Blahrog insisted, finishing his second mug of hospitality.
"Snow good," Andy said, deep into his fifth. "Even Gray Flannel, ad man in legend, only got to 0.87. Simpossible."
Blahrog, who knew little about advertising or computers, repeated, "You must try. No member of the Cobbler's Guild has ever quit without trying."
Andy had been accepted as an apprentice of the Guild the night before.
"Dunno," he said. "Tell you simpossible."
Blahrog climbed off the barrel of Throatduster. "I'll go get Miss Featherpenny," he said. "Perhaps she can help you."
"Miss Featherpenny. Bah," Andy snorted. "What good would she be? Dumb steno." He tried to be fair. "Nice legs, I admit. But no brains."
"I'll go get Miss Featherpenny," Blahrog repeated firmly, closing the door behind him....
"What frame of mind is he in?" Miss Featherpenny looked uncertainly at the heavy door to Andy's store room.