As Charlie Jingle sat there a smile twitched across his face. Let them figure _that_ out, he thought, and then sank into a reverie. Over in the other part of the room, across the prairie of rug, the secretary Mento wrote efficiently, the machine going ZZZ CLK SSHHHH CLK CLK ZZZZ, hypnotic in it's well-oiled quietness. "Jingle?" Charlie Jingle looked across the room to the secretary. "What?" he asked. "Would you go in please, Mister Jingle?" Charlie followed the direction of the girl's gesture to a panel in the wall. He got up and started to cross suspiciously toward it. As he slowed down, nearing it, he looked back at her, and she smiled and encouraged him on sympathetically toward the doorless wall. Just as Charlie thought _It'd be funny if I break my nose on that goddam wall_ ... the panel swung in quietly. Charlie walked through it into a room. In it there was another veldt of rug, at the far end of which was a bar, a lounge chair, a tremendous sofa, and a low, knee-high table. The walls were decorated with modern paintings in a colorful, tasteful, executive way. Standing near the knee-high table were three men, one distinguished looking, the other two looking as if they'd stepped out of a Young Collegiate Magazine ad. The elegant one crossed to Charlie, his face a big, pleasant, well-groomed smile, hand extended. "Allow me, Mister Jingle. I'm Kort Gassel. These two gentlemen are Jerome Rupp and Eugene White. Would you like a drink, Mister Jingle?" Charlie Jingle shook their hands and sat down, crossing his legs comfortably. "You got gin, Mister ahhh--" "Gassel," said Kort Gassel, and crossed the three feet to the bar. "Soda?" he asked. "Straight," said Charlie Jingle, and watched the other two sit down slowly as Gassel came back with his drink. "That's quite a drink. I know few men who enjoy straight gin, Mister Jingle. It always comes as a surprise when I--" "You gonna give us the fight, Mister Gassel?" interrupted Charlie. "The fight? You mean with Iron-Man Pugg?" "That's right, with Iron-Man Pugg." "Well Mister Jingle. Since you put the matter so straightforwardly. Pugilists Incorporated only owns a small block of stock in Iron-Man Pugg, as you know. Mister Rupp and Mister White here represent the other interests involved. As you must know, Pugilists Incorporated is a large-scale business, designed to function on a large-scale basis. Now, we, the stockholders in Iron-Man Pugg, have thought this thing out. We've come to the conclusion that it would rather--well, embarrass the Company to agree to such a match as you propose." "So you won't fight?" "No, no, Mister Jingle, don't jump to hasty conclusions. I'm trying to explain something to you. It's not simply a matter of matching your--ah--boy against ours. But we _are_ concerned with the overall effect of such a bout. Frankly, our reputation as a manufacturing concern is more important to us than the outcome of any single bout--" "Whadda you say you get to the point?"