"Good morning, sir. This is Parker, of _Mammalian Blonde Stories_.
Regarding that last piece you were kind enough to let us have a look
at, would $10,000.00 be--"
"Sorry," Harold Worthington Smith said, "I never discuss business
matters before breakfast. Call me back later."
_Click._
"Harold," his wife called from the foot of the stairs, "there's an
editor outside."
"Another one?"
"Yes. Shall I let him in?"
"I suppose so. Tell him I'll try to give him a minute while I'm having
my coffee."
He stacked the checks neatly and placed them on the large pile of
checks to the right of the gold typewriter. He made a mental note to
try to make the bank today. Checks were a nuisance when you let too
many of them accumulate. He threw the three long thin envelopes into
the wastebasket marked "Long Thin Envelopes." It was full again, he
noticed. He could have sworn he'd just emptied it a day or two ago.
His wife came running up the stairs. "Harold, two more editors just
drove up! Shall I let them in, too?"
"You might as well," Harold Worthington Smith said. "If you don't,
they'll just hang around the door all day and make a nuisance of
themselves." He looked at her critically. She'd come through remarkably
well. If anything she was even better stacked than she'd been before.
"Tell them I'll be down presently, princess. And put some clothes on.
For now," he added.
After she had gone he looked the study over carefully. When he was sure
that no traces of his previous reality were present he descended slowly
and majestically to the hall where the three editors humbly awaited him.