like his employees to be impulsive. "Think Before You Leap—And Then Think Again"—a favorite slogan—was ornately framed above his desk. In the five-hour ride to New York Semy had wondered if he had been smart to put off saying yes, as old horseface might change his mind. No, the Senator needed him to keep nitwit Herold in line, and Pop had made it too apparent he couldn't bear to have "Junior," as he referred to him, around. Hadn't the Senator said, "You and Herold work good together"? In a month's time anything could happen. He'd been stuck in Congress long enough. Suppose Lauter did promote him to Omaha. Then what? The old buzzard had made no move to keep him in Washington. Look what happened to Lucy in New York, and she knew a lot of important people. And that Mrs. Doyle had influential contacts. Even Vida, in solid with Figente. Mrs. Doyle had told him that scarecrow Cornwallis had an in everywhere, knew Hollywood people, society, and Broadway too, and could do a lot for anyone she was interested in. He'd concentrate on her.
He had used all his resources, including points learned in the Senator's campaign, for his attack on Cornwallis, and it had paid off. He had noted her friendship with J. L. Biggens, of Biggens Pictures, and decided to steer her to get him a picture job without his having to suggest it. In newspaper city rooms he'd heard Biggens was planning to expand his New York office. Cornwallis had not noticed that the only resemblance between herself and the crude woodcut Empress Theodosia was a braid coronet and the long throat-wound pearls, and had been comically responsive to his shy intimations that he found her fascinating. Imagine an old crow like her taken in by flattery about her looks! And she'd fallen for his line of not wanting anything but the privilege of her company in the short time left to him in New York. He'd taken her to lunches, dinners, and the theatre on the Senator's expense account as he still was studying New York newspaper methods. At the theatre he casually had murmured now and then that pictures needed not only sophisticated Broadway plays but down to earth stories of American life, as he knew from observing audiences as a movie critic in a small town. He never mentioned Biggens. Late one afternoon, bearing Parma violets, he had told Horta sadly the time had come to say goodbye as he had to return to his very good job or he would lose it, though he had to confess he dreaded going back to a small town, a prospect even more dismal now because he would be deprived of her friendship.
