“I wouldn’t underestimate our Mister Uncle Sambo if I were you,” cautioned Guy, raising a rather arch look for Ginger and the others.
“Why those Mexican burros are no bigger than a minute!” Ginger insisted.
“Ginger’s right,” put in Agnes sharply, donning her spectacles—as she almost invariably did when taking political issue with Guy—to peer down at him then over the top of them, her face pinched and testy. “It would make a good deal more sense to send that great ninny up into space!” She flung back her head in a veritable cackle of delight at the idea. “I say blast that whole pack of ninnies right out into fartherest outer space!”
Grand laid his paper aside.
“I don’t think I’m an intolerant person,” he said quietly, but with considerable feeling, as he rose to his feet, “nor one of hasty opinion—but, in times like these, when the very mettle of this nation is in the crucible, I say that brand of talk is not far short of damnable treason!” Still glowering, he did a funny little two-step and ended in a smart salute. “I’m afraid I’ll not be staying for dinner myself, by the way,” he added matter-of-factly.
“Guy, I simply will not hear of it!” cried cross Agnes, snatching her glasses from her nose and fixing the man with a terrible frown. “Surely you shall stay!”
“Guy, Guy, Guy,” keened Esther, wagging her dear gray head, “always on the go.”
“Yes, only wish I could stay,” agreed Guy sadly. “Best push on though—back to harness, back to grind.”
** ***
It was along towards the end though that Grand achieved, in terms of public outrage, his succès d’estime, as some chose to call it, when he put out to sea in his big ship, the S.S. Magic Christian ... the ship sometimes later referred to as “The Terrible Trick Ship of Captain Klaus.” Actually it was the old Griffin, a passenger liner which Grand bought and had reconditioned for about fifty million.