The firemen went down the vertical ladder and forced an entrance into the choked windows. Mrs Dinkman came out first, helped by two of them. She kept pinching her glasses into place with one hand and pulling her skirt modestly close with the other, activities leaving her very little to grasp the ladder with. The firemen seemed quite accustomed to this sort of irrationality, and paying no heed to the rush of words--inaudible to us on the street--bursting from her, they coaxed her expertly up onto the roof. Here she stood, statuesquely outlined against the bright sky, berating her succorers, until Mr Dinkman, rounded, bald, and calm, joined her. At first Mrs Dinkman refused to try the bridge to the street, but after some urging which was conveyed to us by the gestures of the firemen, she ventured gingerly on the trembling ladders only to draw back quickly. One of the firemen demonstrated the ease and simplicity of the journey, but it was vain; Mrs Dinkman was carried across gallantly in traditional movie style, with Mr Dinkman and the crew following sedately behind. "A crime," Mrs Dinkman was saying when she came within earshot. "A crime. Malicious mischief. Ought to be locked up for life." "Don't upset yourself, my dear," urged Mr Dinkman. "It's very distressing, but afterall it might be worse." "'Worse'! Adam Dinkman, has misfortune completely unhinged your mind? Money thrown in the gutter--imposed on by oily rascals--our house swallowed up by this ... this unnatural stuff--and the final humiliation of being pulled out of our own home in front of a gawking crowd." She turned around and shouted, "Shoo, shoo--why don't you go home?" And then to Mr Dinkman again, "'Worse' indeed! I'd like to know what could be worse?" "Well now--" began Mr Dinkman; but I didnt hear the rest, for I was afraid by "rascals" Mrs Dinkman referred, quite unjustly, to me and I thought the time opportune to remind Gootes he hadnt yet completed his assignment. "Right," he agreed, suddenly assuming the abrupt accents of an improbable Englishman, "oh very right, old chap. Let's toddle along and see what Fu Manchu has to say for himself. First off though I shall have to phone in to Fleet Street--I mean to W R." "Fine. You can ask him at the same time to authorize you to give me the other thirty." Gootes lost his British speech instantly. "What other thirty, bum?" "Why, the balance of the fifty. For an introduction to Mi--to the maker of the Metamorphizer. To compensate me, you know, for my loss of revenue." "Weener, you have all the earmarks of a castiron moocher. Let me tell you, suh--such methods are unbecoming. They suggest damyankee push and blackmail. Remember Reconstruction and White Supremacy, suh."