Meanwhile, I waited patiently--having no choice, since I started the publicity nightmare myself--for the earthquake to settle down. As his agent I was holding off all new commitments until he fulfilled the ones on hand. Six months passed, and Hillary was still wallowing in glory, too busy sopping up plaudits to bother turning a hand. Finally I sent a goon squad after him and dragged him to my office. He arrived in a four-hundred dollar suit and a fifty-dollar tie. Each cuff was decorated by a diamond link and a Hollywood starlet. I shooed out the excess and came to the point. "Recess is over," I said gently. "Now we settle down for a few months of patty-cake with your secretaries. They're here in my offices now where I can keep an eye on things. Okay?" He grinned his old happy smile, and some of the dewey glaze seemed to peel from his eyes. "You're right, George," he said much to my surprise. "I can't coast forever--and believe me, I never visualized what this would be like. It's wonderful. The world is at my feet, George. At my feet!" I had pegged him right. But after all, who could resist the accolade he had received? For all his monomania on this business of mnemonics, he was a red-blooded boy with active glands and youthful corpuscles. To my further delight he threw off his imported suit-coat and said, "I'm ready right now. Where do we start?" * * * * * I broached the file and studied my priority list. "First off, Oscar wants a play. That'll take a week or two, I suppose. Then I have an assignment for a serial--" I outlined about three months work for him, or what would have been three months work last summer. I moved him into my own penthouse apartment upstairs and herded him to work the next morning. My squad of strong-arms guarded all entrances, and Hec Blankenship finally convinced the public that we meant business in getting a little privacy for our tame genius so he could hatch some more immortal works. I had lunch sent in to him in the next office and didn't see him until five that first evening. I went in without knocking. One secretary was filing her nails, and the other three were putting on their coats. The covers were still on the typewriters and Hillary was asleep or in a coma over in the corner. I kicked his feet off his desk, and he rocked forward. "Come on upstairs, I'll buy you a steak," I said. He smiled weakly, "I need one. It didn't go so good." In the elevator he added, "In fact, it didn't go at all." "Take it easy," I assured him. "You're a little rusty, that's all. What about the total recall? Is it still working?" He nodded, but he didn't say any more about it. Next day I stuck my head in before I went to lunch, and I congratulated myself on not pushing him too hard the first day. Hillary was off in his corner again, but his mouth was moving and all four girls were doing the things that secretaries do when they are about two hours behind in their work.