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beside me. I was aware of the faint, gentle perfume.
    “The telephone is a conventional call director with ten lines. Outside lines are available by dialing eight or nine first. Of course we are available to get all numbers for you. There are also two direct lines that bypass the switchboard for your personal use, and direct intercoms to each of our desks.
    “On the wall opposite you you will see three television screens. The first is tied into our own network and will always project the current network program. The other two are conventional sets and show all channels. All are controlled from this set of buttons next to your telephone.
    “On the inside wall of the office there is a built-in bar which is revealed by this button.” She pressed it and the bar opened.
    It was stocked and ready for action. I nodded approvingly.
    “To the right of the bar, you will notice a door. That is the entrance from the reception area. It is electrically controlled and locked from our desks or yours. To the left of the bar is a private bathroom. It is complete with a dressing room, shower, and sauna or wet steam; there is also a small bedroom should you desire to rest.”
    I got up and walked over to the bathroom and opened the door. I went inside. It was everything she said it was and more. With a setup like this there was never a reason to go home. I went back into the office.
    The telephone buzzed. She picked it up. “Mr. Gaunt’s office.” She looked at me. “Mr. Sinclair for you.”
    I took the telephone from her hand and walked around the desk. She left. “Mr. Sinclair.”
    “Just a moment, I’ll put him on,” his secretary’s voice said. There was a click.
    “Are you comfortable, Mr. Gaunt?”
    “I am, thank you.”
    He chuckled. “Just keep that in mind whenever you think of complaining because the neighbors upstairs are making too much noise. Remember you asked for that office.”
    I laughed. “I’ll remember, Mr. Sinclair.”
    “I’d appreciate it if you could come up to my office a few minutes before the ten thirty meeting,” he said. “I would like you to meet Dan Ritchie before we go in.”
    “I’ll be there at ten twenty.”
    ***
    Dan Ritchie was a pro. He took being kicked upstairs without rancor. His grip was firm. “Glad to meet you, Steve,” he boomed. He studied me for a minute, a puzzled expression in his eyes. He turned to Sinclair. “I had the impression somehow that he was much younger.”
    Sinclair had the same puzzled expression on his face. I smiled at them. “You age quickly in this business.”
    Suddenly Sinclair caught on. A glint of amusement came into his eyes. Also a curious kind of respect. “You sure do,” he said. “Sometimes it happens overnight.”
    He didn’t know it. But it happened about eight o’clock that morning. I had had my shower and finished buttoning up my shirt as I walked back into the living room.
    “Okay, fellas,” I said brightly. “Any of you think of ordering breakfast?”
    “Christ! Look at him,” Jack groaned from where he was stretched out on the couch. “He stays up all night wearing us out with his questions, then showers and comes out looking bright as a new penny. How did you do it? With benny tabs?”
    I grinned at him. “Just live right, I guess.”
    “It’s youth,” Joe Griffin, his chief research man said. “He almost doesn’t look old enough to vote, much less be president of a major network.”
    I turned to look at him. He put his finger right on it. My big problem would come not from what I wanted to do but from the grayheads who would look at me and think I was nothing but a loudmouthed kid. I turned and picked up the telephone. The only way to lick them was to join them.
    The barbershop had no one who could do what I wanted, but the beauty parlor did. The promise of fifty dollars sent the girl up real quick.
    She was a cute little brunette in a pink smock. She carried a little black cosmetic case and chewed gum. She came into