Miss Trablipocris hurled her steno pad and pencil (it was yellow, a no. 2) to the brown shag carpet, then stomped out the office.

This made Nancy nervous. “Mr. Carps?” she ventured, using the secretary’s eccentric pronunciation of the publisher’s name. Before he could answer, Miss Trablipocris’s voice came over the intercom.

“I’m sorry, but I won’t be bringing you any standard forms anymore—because I quit!”

“Oh no!” shrieked Nancy, far less delightedly than before. “What about my book?”

Mr. Carps signaled for her to quiet herself, then rather impatiently spoke. “Stop that,” he said “and right away.” Then, with sudden concern, “Not you, Miss Trablipocris.” There was no reply.

“Miss Trablipocris,” queried Mr. Carps, with new caution, “are you there?”