She laughed, throaty but tinkling, a brook flowing through chimes. "And you wonder why I won't marry you. My friend, I won't marry you until you figure out why I won't."
The elevator stopped before he could ask for explanations. They found Otto among his machines, seated at a table. There were sheets of paper on it. There was also a small, furry body.
"Okay, Otto—when do we get a scrambler on? I've got the great American public snowed, but I can't hold 'em forever."
"We just found the trouble," said Otto, brushing the hair off his forehead. "It's crazy." He picked up the furred object. "A mouse got into the auxiliary and shorted it."
"Number one," said Archy. "Tomorrow I fire the maintenance staff. Mice—in my studio! Number two—how soon can you have a scrambler going?"
"Fifteen minutes," said Otto proudly.
"Make it ten. Buzz me in the studio. We'll cut right into the program."
Back in the elevator, Archy crowed. "That's it, Baby—Archy House in action, everything taken care of."
"No credit for Otto?"
"You kidding. Otto's smart enough to work for me, but I'm smart enough to hire him. So who's smartest?" He juggled the mouse in his hand, reflectively. "Without me, Otto'd be nowhere. Somebody else'd have his idea. The smart guys are the promoters, chick. Why not marry one?"