Archy said it wouldn't, instructed his staff to take no more calls, and went to find Otto. June went with him.
June was a person with a knack for making you think of something else no matter what crisis you were embroiled in. In the elevator, Archy slipped an arm around her. "I've got an idea," he whispered.
"I'll scream," she warned, "and this shaft is like a megaphone."
"That's not the idea—anyway, an elevator is too cramped. My idea is; let's get married when this is over."
"Hmmm." She twisted back provocatively. "I've got another idea—give me a raise and I might think about it."
"That's what you said the last three times, and now you're drawing a thousand a week."
"And worth every buck of it."
"True, true. If I didn't pay you what you're worth, professionally, some other outfit would steal you."
"You think I'd pull out just for a raise?"
"You'd be nuts if you didn't. Look, June—if you married me, a thousand a week would be nothing—peanuts."