"
A little exclamation broke from Sam Hupp. He checked it, but not
before Berg's curiously penetrating pale blue eyes had glanced up
at him, and away again.
"I've told you, Mr. Griebler," went on Bartholomew Berg's patient
voice, "just why the thing you insist on is impossible. This firm
does not submit advance copy. Every business commission that comes
to us is given all the skill, and thought, and enthusiasm, and
careful planning that this office is capable of. You know our
record. This is a business of ideas. And ideas are too precious,
too perishable, to spread in the market place for all to see."
Ben Griebler stood up. His cigar waggled furiously between his
lips as he talked.
"I know something else that don't stand spreading in the market
place, Berg. And that's money. It's too darned perishable, too."
He pointed a stubby finger at Jock. "Does this fool rule of yours
apply to this young fellow, too?"
Bartholomew Berg seemed to grow more patient, more self-contained
as the other man's self-control slipped rapidly away.
"It goes for every man and woman in this office, Mr. Griebler.
This young chap, McChesney here, might spend weeks and months
building up a comprehensive advertising plan for you.
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