"It was so strictly original," Mason protested hysterically. "Last year we did it like a chimney sweeper and his helper. We--" "And next year it'll be a burglar and his friend. What happened tonight in the two thousand dollar chimney? Two, Mel?" "Three!" Grabinett howled. "Three thousand bucks so he could get his pants full of nails and drop the dummy trying to ungoose hisself. It was a trappisty!" "Who'd he drop it on, Tooky?" "Who cares who?" "Mel and I care. We're still trying to find a laugh in that sketch." "I care on who." Irma raked Ween with her eyes. "Happens he dropped Diggy on me. My head." Lennox kept his face straight. "Did it get a laugh?" "Nobody saw. I was behind the set." "Cuing him from the script," Grabinett sputtered. "He didn't even know his lines." "If you don't like my boy, you know what you can do," Ween told him. "There's co-operation for you," Lennox said bitterly. "What does he have to lose, Mel? He's got a network contract for his boy. Two thousand a week guaranteed, work or no work. What does he care about the show?" Lennox looked at Mason sympathetically. "But you ought to care, Mig. It won't do you any good to go off and lose your fans while Tooky collects his ten percent." "Fifteen," Mason snapped. "Oh? Three bills a week out of you? For what? Watching? Advising? Protecting? No. 'If you don't like my boy, you know what you can do.' Agents!" "What the hell are you trying to parlay?" Ween demanded. "I think you're looking for an excuse to get out of the show," Lennox answered. "You're trying to duck the Kansas lawsuit. Your property got Mel into this jam. Now you want out so he'll have to face it alone." "They'll never get away with it," Grabinett shouted. "Neither of you both. You got me into this. You're stuck with it." "St. Nicholas!?" Mason cried. "St. Nicholas!" "Yeah? Show me where it says in the contract," Ween answered, "It ain't our headache. It's yours." "Then how would you like it if I handed you a real genuine headache, Mr. Ween? Something I had been protecting your Almighty property from." Grabinett blinked ominously. "A nice little headache waiting for your boy up at the office in a blue envelope. Number six, it is." "What?" Lennox exclaimed. "Another one, Mel?" "Yeah. Another one. It come special delivery this morning. What a sweet Christmas card! Wait'll you read it, Jake. It got me so scared, I--Wait'll Mig reads it." "What's this? What's this?" Tooky Ween said angrily. "You been holding out on my property's fan mail?" "Not any mail he wants to read. Some elegant letters in blue envelopes which--" "Mel! Hold the phone," Lennox interrupted. "We decided we weren't going to mention those letters to anyone. Are you going to blow it?"