he walls. Near the window
was a deep leather lounge; to the right of this stood a small piano,
the music-stool of which was occupied by a young man with untidy black
hair that needed cutting. On top of the piano, taking the eye
immediately by reason of its bold brightness, was balanced a large
cardboard poster. Much of its surface was filled by a picture of a
youth in polo costume bending over a blonde goddess in a bathing-suit.
What space was left displayed the legend:

ISAAC GOBLE AND JACOB COHN

PRESENT

THE ROSE OF AMERICA

(A Musical Fantasy)

BOOK AND LYRICS BY OTIS PILKINGTON

MUSIC BY ROLAND TREVIS

Turning her eyes from this, Jill became aware that something was going
on at the other side of the desk, and she perceived that a second
young man, the longest and thinnest she had ever seen, was in the act
of rising to his feet, length upon length like an unfolding snake. At
the moment of her entry he had been lying back in an office-chair, so
that only a merely nominal section of his upper structure was visible.
Now he reared his impressive length until his head came within
measurable distance of the ceiling. He had a hatchet face and a
receding chin, and he gazed at Jill through what she assumed were the
"tortoise-shell cheaters" referred to by her recent acquaintance, Mr.
Brown.

"Er...?" said this young man enquiringly in a high, flat voice.

Jill, like many other people, had a brain which was under the
alternating control of two diametrically opposite forces. It was like
a motor-car steered in turn by two drivers, the one a dashing,
reckless fellow with no regard for the speed limits, the other a timid
novice. All through the proceedings up to this point the dasher had
been in command. He had whisked her along at a break-neck pace,
ignoring obstacles and police regulations. Now, having brought her to
this situation, he abruptly abandoned the wheel and turned it over to
his colleague, the shrinker. Jill, greatly daring a moment ago, now
felt an overwhelming shyness.

She gulped, and her heart beat quickly. The thin man towered over her.
The black-haired pianist shook his locks at her like Banquo.

"I...." she began.

Then, suddenly, womanly intuition came to her aid. Something seemed to
tell her that these men were just as scared as she was. And, at the
discovery, the dashing driver resumed his post at the wheel, and she
began to deal with the situation with composure.

"I want to see Mr. Gobl