"Certainly, certainly. Sam, run along the major and I have business."
When the boy was gone, Joe sank into a chair and looked up at the
Telly reporter accusingly. He said, "This fancy uniform, I stood still
for. That idea of picking a song to identify me with and bribing the
orchestra leaders to swing into it whenever I enter some restaurant or
nightclub, might have its advantages. Getting me all sorts of Telly
interviews, between fracases, and all those write-ups in the fracas
buff magazines, I can see the need for, in spite of what it's costing.
But what in Zen"--his voice went dangerous--"was the idea of sticking
that punch-drunk prizefighter on me in the most respectable nightclub
in Greater Washington?"