“Okay,” said Harold. He never liked to say yes for fear of being tagged a yes-man. Anyway, he enjoyed relaxing in the office-cottage while Mr. Untz showered and changed, which Mr. Untz did some three or four times a day. When he got there Mr. Untz 51 disappeared into the dressing-room and Harold picked up a magazine.
There was a knock on the door.
Harold got up and crossed the soft cream-colored carpet and opened the door and saw a goat-like person.
“Yes?” said Harold.
“Mildume,” said the goat-like person. “Dr. John Mildume. Don’t ask a lot of questions about how I got in. Had a hard enough time as it was. Fortunately I have several relatives connected with the studio. That’s how I heard of your problem as a matter of fact.”
“My problem?” said Harold.
Dr. Mildume pushed right in. He was no more than five feet five but had a normal sized head. It was domelike. Wisps of tarnished white hair curled about his ears and crown. He had an out-thrust underjaw with a small white beard on its prow. He was dressed in moderately shabby tweeds. He moved across the room in an energetic hopping walk and took the place on the sofa Harold had vacated.
“Now, then, Mr. Untz,” he said, “the first thing we must do is come to terms.”
“Just a minute,” said Harold. “I’m Mr. Untz’s assistant, Harold Potter. Mr. Untz is in the shower. Was he expecting you?”
Dr. Mildume blinked. “No, not exactly. But he can’t afford not to see me. I know all about it.”