Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 18, 2025
But I feel like something that has just been kicked out into the sunshine after having been in jail." "You're tired," said Ben Griebler. "It's been a strain. Something always snaps after a long tension." Jock's flat palm came down among the papers with a crack. "You bet something snaps! It has just snapped inside me." He began quietly to gather up the papers in an orderly little way.
The grin was gone. He was as serious as he had been in the midst of his tirade of five minutes before. "All right. Here it is. And don't blame me if it sounds like cheap melodrama. This stuff," and he waved a hand toward the paper-laden table, "is an advertising campaign plan for the Griebler Gum Company, of St. Louis. Oh, don't look impressed. The office hasn't handed me any such commission.
"This is Mr. McChesney," said Bartholomew Berg. "Mr. Griebler, McChesney." Jock came forward, smiling that charming smile of his. "Mr. Griebler," he said, extending his hand, "this is a great pleasure." "Hm!" growled Ben Griebler, "I didn't know they picked 'em so young." His voice was a piping falsetto that somehow seemed to match his restless little eyes.
"I've been waiting for you here since five o'clock last evening. It will soon be five o'clock again. Will you let me show you those plans now?" Ben Griebler had surveyed Jock with the stony calm of the out-of-town visitor who is prepared to show surprise at nothing in New York. "There's nothing like getting an early start," said Ben Griebler. "Come on up to my room."
In the second that elapsed between the opening and the closing of the door Jock's glance swept the three men Bartholomew Berg, quiet, inscrutable, seated at his great table-desk; Griebler, lost in the depths of a great leather chair, smoking fussily and twitching with a hundred little restless, irritating gestures; Sam Hupp, standing at the opposite side of the room, hands in pockets, attitude argumentative.
"What's that for?" inquired Griebler, coming forward. "You don't mean " "I mean that I'm going to go home and square this thing with a lady you've never met. You and she wouldn't get on if you did. You don't talk the same language. Then I'm going to have a cold bath, and a hot breakfast. And then, Griebler, I'm going to take this stuff to Bartholomew Berg and tell him the whole nasty business.
The door slammed behind him. "Whew!" whistled Sam Hupp, passing a handkerchief over his bald spot. Bartholomew Berg reached out with one great capable hand and swept toward him a pile of papers. "Oh, well, you can't blame him. Advertising has been a scream for so long. Griebler doesn't know the difference between advertising, publicity, and bunk. He'll learn.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking