“Well, as a matter of fact, Bert....”
“You don’t mean the old boy’s got you on the mat already, Tommy. Ha-ha. That what you’re trying to say?”
“No, Bert, it’s ... well I don’t know, Bert, I just don’t know.”
It was a matter of pride, of course. As against it, salaries had been given a fairly stiff boost, and titles. If these dapper execs were to go to another agency now, it would be at a considerable loss of dollars and cents. Most of the old-timers—and the younger ones too, actually—had what it took to stick it out there at J.R.
XI
“These sweet fluffs are good,” said Ginger Horton, daintily taking what was perhaps her ninth cream puff from a great silver tray at hand, and giving Guy Grand a most coquettish look.
“Takes one to know one,” said Guy, beaming and rolling his eyes.
Esther twittered, and Agnes looked extremely pleased.
** ***
Grand made quite a splash in the fall of ’58 when he entered the “big-car” field with his sports line of Black Devil Rockets, a gigantic convertible. There were four models of the Rocket, each with a different fanciful name, though, except for the color of the upholstery, all four cars were identical. The big convertible was scaled in the proportions of an ordinary automobile, but was tremendous in size—was, in fact, longer and wider than the largest Greyhound Bus in operation.