You can in your next place, Howard suggested significantly.
My next place?
Don't mean maybe. You won't last long after this kind of start. They'll put the rollers under you.
The telephone bell tinkled.
Hello, said Olive, lifting the receiver to her ear. Yes, he's here. Just a moment, please. . . . She pressed her palm against the transmitter . . . Howard, she whispered, it's Mr. Pettijohn.
Hello. Howard was at the telephone. Is that you, Mr. Pettijohn? You want to see me? . . . When? . . . Right away? Well, I don't know about that. I've got a mighty important case on hand. I expect to go over it with my client tonight. . . . That so? . . . Well, I might put him off till ten o'clock and come to see you first. . . . Yes, I'll do that, Mr. Pettijohn. . . . Howard was speaking with decision. . . . At your house? All right, I'll be right around.
Replacing the receiver, he whirled about to face the room.
Hurray! he cried. Hurray! I've hooked Pettijohn at last. He's had a row with Mainwaring and fired him. Why, the King has more law business than any one else in Harlem!
Olive was screaming with laughter. Gee, how well you bluffed him, Howard! Got to meet an-
