I hunches my shoulders and lets it go at that.
"I notice," says Old Hickory, taking back the sheet, "that one feature of the entertainment was an impersonation by Mr. Brinkerhoff Hollis, of 'the Old He-Crab Himself unloading a morning grouch'. Now, just what does that mean?"
"Couldn't say exactly," says I. "I wasn't there."
"Oh, you were not, eh?" says he. "Didn't suppose you were. But you understand, Torchy, I am asking this information of you as my private secretary. I—er—it will be treated as confidential."
"Sorry, Mr. Ellins," says I, "but you know about as much of it as I do."
"Which is quite enough," says he, "for me to decide that the Corrugated can dispense with the services of this Hollis person at once. You will notify Mr. Piddie to that effect."
"Ye-e-es, sir," says I, sort of draggy.
He glances up at me quick. "You're not enthusiastic about it, eh?" says he.
"No," says I.
"Then for your satisfaction, and somewhat for my own," he goes on, "we will review the case against this young man. He was one of three who won a D minus rating in the report made by that efficiency expert called in by Mr. Piddie last fall."