"It never rains, but it pours," he said.
"You can't stand long on one foot," Swenson answered without looking up. "Put all your troubles in one basket and then lose the basket. Morituri te salutamus. Have you heard my theory about the advantage of reproduction via the egg? And get me a beer."
"I will get you a beer, but if you say a word about that egg theory, I will fire you. I heard you talking to O'Toole."
"Okay. We'll forget the egg for the nonce. Did you pilfer that snuff?"
"It's being loaded. And it cost Acme—"
"Did you expect it would fall like manna from heaven?" Swenson flipped the switch of the intercom to Acme's launching area. "Give me Number 2. Captain Wilkins."
"What are you going to do?" Mister Cerobie asked.
"Don't you remember what I told you yesterday? Where's that beer?"
Mister Cerobie smiled, a weary, dogged smile, the smile of a man who had bet on drawing to a belly straight.
"Captain Wilkins," came over the intercom, "calling Swenson, dispatcher, for orders."