Read 31st Of February for Free Online Page B

smell. By the way, do you like the Crunchy-Munch scheme?”
    Anderson hesitated and then said: “Well, to be frank, I don’t. It’s too farfetched.”
    “Farfetched, hell. There really are vitamins in that stuff .”
    “And I don’t think we ought to try to sell a chocolate biscuit by a strip scheme. With rationing, it sells itself anyway. I roughed out some headings myself.” Anderson read them. “What do you think?”
    “Not much. I don’t think we want to be comic about the stuff. It’s not a joke; it’s got serious food value.” They argued for nearly half an hour. Lessing repeated the same points unwearyingly, his eyes mild behind the large round spectacles. Anderson had difficulty in keeping the conversation on the friendly plane that generally existed between them. Suddenly Lessing broke off. “Your calendar’s wrong. It says the fourth. Today’s the twenty-fifth.” Deftly he twirled the little knob and altered the date. Anderson stared at him, and at the calendar.
    “You want to scrap this strip scheme, then?” Lessing held out his hand for the copy and layouts.
    “No,” Anderson said with an effort. “No, I’ll present it to VV tomorrow morning and I’ll put up my own headings and copy as an alternative. Both anonymously, of course. Okay?”
    Lessing grinned. “Whatever you say. Let’s go out and have a cup of tea on it.”
    They went out and had a cup of tea and a piece of cake. Lessing told Anderson about the new words spoken by his two-year-old child, who said “Eyeoo” when she wanted her right shoe and “Effoo” when she wanted her left shoe. When they came back Jean Lightley met them in the corridor and gasped: “Oh, Mr Anderson, Mr Crashaw says he can’t let you have these drawings this afternoon after all.”
    Molly O’Rourke opened the door of her room, marked RESEARCH. “Thought I heard you. Bagwash is on the line, and he won’t take ‘Out’ for an answer. I think Mr Arthur’s in the eighth month of an idea and he wants you to act as midwife.”
    Pile’s secretary came out of the typing pool. “There you are, Mr Anderson. Can you spare Mr Pile a moment?”
    Anderson telephoned Bagseed, apologized for the delay in delivering the drawings and listened to complaints that Mr Arthur was right on Bagseed’s back. Mr Arthur wanted to see the drawings now. Mr Arthur thought they were not getting good enough service. Confidentially, Mr Arthur had said to him—
    A pulse was beating in Anderson’s forehead. He interrupted. “Mr Bagseed, you’re getting as much service from us as any other three clients put together.”
    “Well, really –” Mr Bagseed’s nasal voice almost expired. “And the moment your drawings arrive they’ll be sent up to you. Now, there are six people on my back, and I’m going to try to shake some of them off. Good-bye.” He told the telephone girl that he was out to any further calls from Kiddy Modes. He talked to Crashaw, who was apologetic. The artist who had started work on the drawings was eager to finish them himself, and they thought that would be a good thing after all. The drawings were going to the artist that night, and would be delivered tomorrow morning. Anderson saw Mr Pile, who wanted to know how Greatorex was getting on. “I may meet Sir Malcolm at the club tonight and he will be taking a – h’m – avuncular interest, you know.” Anderson said that Greatorex seemed rather old to be starting a career in advertising, and Mr Pile looked embarrassed.
    “To make a clean breast of it, he has – tried several occupations without complete success.” Did the eyes twinkle behind the rimless pince-nez? “But can I – report back – to Sir Malcolm in a satisfactory sense on his first day?”
    “He seems a bright enough chap,” Anderson said wearily. “And eager. That’s a great thing. He’s been with Lessing most of the time.”
    Mr Pile talked for another ten minutes. Back in his room once more, Anderson stared at the green