The telephone rang, and Brundage, watching the flight of his argument like an archer following the flight of his arrow, ignored it for a moment. Then he sat back, turned in his chair and picked it up.
"Um?" he said.
"I did," he said.
"I did," he said again.
He put the phone down on its cradle and turned back to the desk. As he did, Miss Frances Blakely, a slender, elderly, sweet-faced woman who has been Brundage's secretary and, in effect, executive assistant for more years than she cares to specify, entered the office and put a sheaf of papers on his desk. She said mildly, "You said you wanted to see these before you left tonight."
"Um," Brundage said. He didn't seem happy about the idea.
Miss Blakely paused at the door on her way out.
"Did you make that call?" she asked.
Brundage frowned at the papers.
"I did," he said shortly, without looking up.