“I think so, Harry. I hope so.” The low gentle voice filled the room again.
“I hope so too, or God help Goodwin.” Koven turned on Byram Hildebrand. “Has seven-twenty-eight come, By?”
“No,” Hildebrand squeaked. “I phoned Furnari, and he said it would be right over.”
“Late again. We may have to change. When it comes, do a revise on the third frame. Where Dan says, ‘Not tonight, my dear,’ make it, ‘Not today, my dear.’ Got it?”
“But we discussed that—”
“I know, but change it. We’ll change seven-twenty-nine to fit. Have you finished seven-thirty-three?”
“No. It’s only—”
“Then what are you dome up here?”
“Why, Goodwin came, and you said you wanted us at twelve-thirty—”
“I’ll let you know when we’re ready — sometime after lunch. Show me the revise on seven-twenty-eight.” Koven glanced around masterfully. “How is everybody? Blooming? See you all later. Come along, Goodwin, sorry you had to wait. Come with me.”