“Certainly. What is it?”
“Consider yourself duly and affectionately kissed.”
“Oh! Dan, you’re developing a habit. But don’t you think two kisses are quite sufficient to start the day with?”
“That was a little mean feminine jab, Maisie. Good-by. I’m going to hang up.”
He did, albeit smiling and much relieved. He could now turn to the task of standing old John Casson on the latter’s snowy head, so to speak, and see how much rice would run out of his pockets.
Experience had taught Dan that the best way to handle his partner was to rough him from the start, for, like all weak and pompous men, Casson was not superabundantly endowed with courage or the ability to think fast and clearly under fire. He would fight defensively but never offensively, and Dan had discovered the great fundamental truth that the offensive generally wins, the defensive never.
He summoned his secretary. “Miss Mather, please inform Mr. Casson that I desire to confer with him—in my office—immediately.”
As he had anticipated, old Casson obeyed him without question.
“Well, boy, what have you got on your mind this morning?” he began genially.
“Rice,” Dan answered curtly. “Sit down.”