Ginger Horton seized the opportunity to bring the dog into it.
“Well, it’s all over our head, isn’t it, Bitsy? Hmm? Isn’t it over your Bitsy-witsy head? Hmmm?”
“Bearish ...” Esther began to explain.
“I think we all know what that means, Esther,” said Agnes shortly, raising one hand to her throat, her old eyes glittering no less than the great diamonds she clutched there.
** ***
Evidently Grand liked playing the donkey-man. In any case, he had bought himself a large motion-picture house in Philadelphia. The house had been losing money badly for six months, so it was natural that the manager and his staff, who knew nothing of Grand’s background, should be apprehensive over the probable shake-up.
The manager was a shrewd and capable man of many years’ experience in cinema management, a man whose position represented for him the fruit of a life’s work. He decided that his best move, under the circumstances, would be to go to Grand and cheerfully recommend salary cuts for all.
During their first conference, however, it was Grand, in his right as new owner, who held the initiative throughout.
By way of preliminary, and while the manager sat alertly on the edge of a big leather chair, Grand paced the floor of the comfortable office, his hands clasped at his back, and a slight frown on his face. Finally he stopped in the center of the room and addressed the manager:
“The Chinese have an expression, Mr. ... Mister Manager. I believe it occurs in the book of the I Ching: “Put your house in order,” they say, “that is the first step.””