anybody who thinks otherwise is going to
lose a lot of money. Between ourselves the only thing I can do really
well is to cook..."

"My dear Gladys!" cried Fillmore revolted.

"I'm a heaven-born cook, and I don't mind notifying the world to that
effect. I can cook a chicken casserole so that you would leave home and
mother for it. Also my English pork-pies! One of these days I'll take
an afternoon off and assemble one for you. You'd be surprised! But
acting--no. I can't do it, and I don't want to do it. I only went on the
stage for fun, and my idea of fun isn't to plough through a star part
with all the critics waving their axes in the front row, and me knowing
all the time that it's taking money out of Fillmore's bankroll that
ought to be going towards buying the little home with stationary
wash-tubs... Well, that's that, Fillmore, old darling. I thought I'd
just mention it."

Sally could not help being sorry for Fillmore. He was sitting with his
chin on his hands, staring moodily before him--Napoleon at Elba. It was
plain that this project of taking Miss Winch by the scruff of the neck
and hurling her to the heights had been very near his heart.

"If that's how you feel," he said in a stricken voice, "there is nothing
more to say."

"Oh, yes there is. We will now talk about this revue of yours. It's
off!"

Fillmore bounded to his feet; he thumped the desk with a well-nourished
fist. A man can stand just so much.

"It is not off! Great heavens! It's too much! I will not put up with
this interference with my business concerns. I will not be tied and
hampered. Here am I, a man of broad vision and... and... broad vision...
I form my plans... my plans... I form them... I shape my schemes... and
what happens? A horde of girls flock into my private office while I
am endeavouring to concentrate... and concentrate... I won't stand it.
Advice, yes. Interference, no. I... I... I... and kindly remember that!"

The door closed with a bang. A fainter detonation announced the
whirlwind passage through the outer office. Footsteps died away down the
corridor.

Sally looked at Miss Winch, stunned. A roused and militant Fillmore was
new to her.

Miss Winch took out the stick of chewing-gum again and unwrapped it.

"Isn't he cute!" she said. "I hope he doesn't get the soft kind," she
murmured, chewing reflectively.

"The soft kind."

"He'll be back soon with a box of candy," explained Miss Winch, "and he
will get that s