"Come in," called Jerry gaily.
An odd, boyish-looking girl stuck in her head.
"At home, Jerry? What's the celebration?"
"I've got a job, Bobsie, a big, cash-in-hand kind of a job, and I'm trying to raise a spark of human response in the frozen buzzum of Jane Judd."
"Oh, is this your Jane day? Hello, Jane," she added, seating herself comfortably. "Go ahead, Jerry, let's hear."
He told her the story, in some detail, with touches of his own. He was so boyishly elated over it that she was fired with some of his enthusiasm.
"But look here, Jerrymander, how about the big mural designs? How about my portrait? This pageant won't get you anywhere."
"Won't it? You should have heard me tell the Abercrombie Brendon that I would try my best to put off my portrait sitters. You, my dear Bobs, are my portrait sitters."
"It will ruin your winter's work. They'll pick your brains, that crowd, and take your time, and you can whistle for your money."
"I wasn't in kindergarten yesterday, Bobs. I know a thing or two about the dear rich. They will pay-as-we-go, one good big deposit down in advance."