George got his coffee and joined Charlie at their corner table. "Getting chummy with old dad Perkins?" Charlie asked. "I just got told," George said, leaning forward, "I could increase my insurance." "No!" "Said it was time I moved up a notch." Charlie clenched his fist. "We _can_ make the Country Club, I tell you. I'm almost twelve thousand in the red, not counting the house and the boat. Let's celebrate, Georgie. All four of us. We can go to the Emperor Room for sixty bucks. That is, if you're still talking to your humble friends." "Come off it." "I've seen it happen," Charlie said bitterly. "People getting so deep in debt they start snubbing their more solvent friends." When Arlene dropped the noon mail on George's desk he sat dreaming. More insurance, more credit; more credit, more debt; more debts, more prestige. He sat up with a start and dialed Rosy. * * * * * This time she answered and all was fine. She'd spent the morning in the supermart filling out contest entry blanks and buying a big roast for the pressure cooker. "Oh, George, it's a wonderful pressure cooker. It looks like a space ship, with bolts and portholes and all." "I don't want you to--" "And it's got a remote control panel or something, with all kinds of buttons and blinkers. Timmy just loves it!" "Is Timmy anywhere near it?" "He's _in_ it. It's a big one." Arlene came by his desk. "Where's Charlie?" she asked. "I got a telegram for him." George waved her away and brought the receiver close to his mouth. "Rosy, listen," George hissed. "Put that damn thing away till I get home. We're going to the Emperor Room with Beth and Charlie." There was a short silence. "You said you wanted a home-cooked meal," Rosy said. "To remind you how married you are." George looked up at Maude Doody standing at his desk. "That sounds like a personal call," Meddlin' Maude said. "It's my wife." "You've been on that phone three minutes," Meddlin' Maude said, glancing at her watch. "You know company policy on personal calls, George." "I'm a homemaker," Rosy was saying. "I _want_ to make dinner for you and Timmy." "Oh, go to hell!" George said. Meddlin' Maude clutched at her heart. Rosy gasped. Five minutes later: "Of course I love you, baby doll," George said weakly. In a semi-circle around him stood Meddlin' Maude, Mr. Zungenspiel, Mr. Perkins, Arlene, and an assortment of lesser office authorities. "Just don't touch that pressure cooker till I get home, dammit. It's dangerous." "I can only do my best, George," Rosy said with hard finality. "If that's not good enough for you, darling"--she choked on a sob--"well, I'm _sorry_." The phone clicked and the wire went dead. * * * * * A dozen faces bent over him. "George," Meddlin' Maude said, raising her sharp pencil. "Just a minute, Miss Doody," said Mr. Zungenspiel. "Young man, would you step into my office when you have a _free_ moment?"