He crawled out again, this time dragging the bedspread with him for drapery.
"H'l-lo!" There was no compromise in his voice, which was guttural.
"Luck?
This is Martinson.

You are to retake all of the Bently Brown pictures which you have made so far, under the personal supervision of Bently Brown himself, who will pass upon all film before accepted by the company.

This is final." "Martinson?
This is Luck.

You and Bently Brown and the Acme Film Company can go where the heat's never turned off.

This is final." Whereupon Luck slammed the receiver into its brackets, trailed over to a table and gleaned "the makings" from among the litter of papers, programs, "stills," and letters, and rolled himself a much-needed smoke.
He was sorry chiefly because he had been compelled to use such mild language over the telephone.