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. He'd spend
those weeks studying your business from every possible angle.
Perhaps it would be a plan that would require a year of waiting
before the actual advertising began to appear. And then you might
lose faith in the plan. A waiting game is a hard game to play.
Some other man's idea, that promised quicker action, might appeal
to you. And when it appeared we'd very likely find our own
original idea incorporated in--"

"Say, look here!" squeaked Ben Griebler, his face dully red.
"D'you mean to imply that I'd steal your plan! D'you mean to sit
there and tell me to my face--"

"Mr. Griebler, I mean that that thing happens constantly in this
business. We're almost powerless to stop it. Nothing spreads
quicker than a new idea. Compared to it a woman's secret is a
sealed book."

Ben Griebler removed the cigar from his lips. He was stuttering
with anger. With a mingling of despair and boldness Jock saw the
advantage of that stuttering moment and seized on it. He stepped
close to the broad table-desk, resting both hands on it and