Ginger Horton made a gurgling sound of anger preparatory to speaking, but Guy was quick to press on:
“And here we are for the Look Homeward (Yourself) Angel:
‘Hey there, reader-writer—how would you like to spew your entrails right out onto a priceless Sarouk carpet?!? Huh? Right in the middle of somebody’s living room with everyone watching? Huh? Well, by golly, you can, etcetera, etcetera.’
“As I say, it’s rough-draft copy, of course—needs tightening up, brightening up—but what’s your feeling on it, Ginger? Think it might spell ‘blast-off’ in the hearts of Mr. and Mrs. Front Porch?”
“What? Well I wouldn’t put a ... a single cent into it!” said Ginger with considerable emphasis.
“Oh it’s just too dreadful, Guy,” exclaimed Agnes. “You mustn’t.”
“Hmm. I suppose you’re right,” said Guy, “... hard to say really. Might catch on—might not ... just wanted to put out a feeler or two on it. Always best to keep an open mind in the investment game.”
** ***
Grand had a bit of fun when he engaged a man to smash crackers with a sledge-hammer in Times Square.
The stout fellow arrived with his gear—a box of saltine crackers and a sixty-pound sledge—at precisely 9 A.M. and “set up shop,” as Guy expressed it, just outside the subway entrance on Forty-Second Street, the busiest thoroughfare in the world at this particular hour.