'Guess you better fix up a little account of the Business Men's Picnic, Weaver,' he remarked.
'Henry's doing that.'
Mr Boice's massive head moved slowly, sidewise. 'No,' he said, 'he won't be doing it.'
Humphrey leaned back in his chair. His face wrinkled reflectively; his brows knotted. He held up his pipe; rubbed the worn cob with the palm of his hand.
Mr Boice got up and moved toward the door.
'I've let Henry go,' he said.
Humphrey went on rubbing his pipe; squinting at it.
Mr Boice paused in the door; looked back.
'I'll ask you to attend to it, Weaver.'
Humphrey shook his head.