After Sammy wrote in his notebook, he stared at the thick stack of index cards on his desk. Mary was the first one to come in. She moved toward his desk and reached to take the cards, saying, “Sam, I’ll take those and type them up for you and have them all done by tomorrow morning.”
Sammy gently put his hand on the stack. “No thanks, Mary. I’d like to do them myself.”
She reached again, saying, “I can have them done…”
“No thanks,” he interrupted, and moved them a few inches away from her grasp. “I appreciate the offer, really. Thank you.”
Mary stiffened and backed away. “Fine.”
About five minutes later, George blustered in and closed the door behind him. “Sammy… Sam, what the hell are you doing?”
Sammy, who was ...