ected an acute myopia.

When he was deep in thought, he had a habit of relaxing in his desk
chair with his head back and his eyes closed. His left arm would be
across his chest, his left hand cupping his right elbow, while the right
hand held the bowl of a large-bowled briar which Elshawe puffed
methodically during his ruminations. He was in exactly that position
when Oler Winstein put his head in the door of Elshawe's office.

"Busy?" Winstein asked conversationally.

In some offices, if the boss comes in and finds an employee in a pose
like that, there would be a flurry of sudden action on the part of the
employee as he tried frantically to look as though he had only paused
for a moment from his busy work. Elshawe's only reaction was to open his
eyes. He wasn't the kind of man who would put on a phony act like that,
even if his boss fired him on the spot.

"Not particularly," he said, in his slow, easy drawl. "What's up?"

Winstein came on into the office. "I've got something that might make a
good spot. See what you think."

If Elshawe didn't conform to the stereotype of a reporter, so much less
did Oler Winstein conform to the stereotype of a top-flight TV magnate.
He was no taller than Elshawe's five-seven, and was only slightly
heavier. He wore his hair in a crew cut, and his boyish face made him
look more like a graduate student at a university than the man who had
put Magnum Telenews together with his own hands. He had an office, but
he couldn't be found in it more than half the time; the rest of the
time, he was prowling around the Magnum Building, wandering into studios
and offices and workshops. He wasn't checking up on his employees, and
never gave the impression that he was. He didn't throw his weight
around and he didn't snoop. If he hired a man for a job, he expected the
job to be done, that was all. If it was, the man could sleep at his desk
or play solitaire or drink beer for all Winstein cared; if the work
wasn't done, it didn't matter if the culprit looked as busy as an
anteater at a picnic--he got one warning and then the sack. The only
reason for Winstein's prowling around was the way his mind worked; it
was forever bubbling with ideas, and he wanted to bounce those ideas off
other people to see if anything new and worthwhile would come of them.

He didn't look particularly excited, but, then, he rarely did. Even the
most objective of employees is likely to become biased one way or
another if