“I want to publish this book immediately, ‘as is’—I think it has the makings of a major best-seller!” declared Mr. Carps, slapping the edge of his desk.

“Oh my God!” shrieked Nancy Elipse, clutching her notebook to her chest. “That’s my dream come true!”

Carps pushed a green button on a small unit by his elbow. “Miss Trablipocris,” he shouted into the box. “Hello? Miss Trablipocris, can you hear me?”

Miss Trablipocris swept in. “You wanted to speak to me, Mr. Carps?” Nancy noticed that when the secretary said Mr. Carps’s name, it sounded the same as cops.

“I wonder if I should start pronouncing it like that,” said Nancy, accidentally speaking her thought outloud.

“Miss Trablipocris,” called Mr. Carps, “bring us the standard contract forms, oh, and a magnum of champagne.”

Miss Trablipocris looked confused in the silence that followed. “Why?” she finally asked.

“We are publishing Miss Elipse’s…”

She couldn’t make out the rest over the sounds of Nancy’ elated shrieks, but she got the idea.