looked at the hopeless tower of papers on his desk blotter. Most of them were letters, and his secretary had never quite gotten the hang of weeding out the chaff. Once he found a letter from an FBC Vice-President in the Discard File; since then, he ordered all mail to his desk. He wished he could get a better secretary than Miss Stitch, but the shortage of A1-rated secretaries (A for "Attractiveness," 1 for Efficiency) was acute.

He skimmed through the top of the pile quickly.

"Dear Mr. Donnelly.... Certainly enjoyed 'Death in the Ring' ... one of the best Thrill Shows I've ever seen ... wonder if you would consider a football thriller I have in mind called 'Murder Kicks Off'...."

"Dear Mr. Donnelly.... Let's have more shows like 'Snake Pit' ... that Mother and Baby idea was the greatest.... I really thought that woman would go nuts when she saw her kid with the cobra.... A shocker all the way...."

"Dear Mr. Donnelly.... If 'Kiss of Death' was your idea of entertainment, you ought to retire ... sort of sex shmaltz went out with television ... give us real gutsy stuff and never mind the mush.... I'm only eleven years old, but I'll bet I could write a better scenario than that.... I have this idea for a show called...."

"Dear Mr. Donnelly...."

The Producer sighed again. He reached into his pill drawer and took an ulcer capsule. Then he went back to his correspondence.

When the man entered his office, he didn't even glance up.

"That you, Frick?" he said, eyes on a letter of praise from a Yonkers housewife.

When the man didn't answer, the Producer looked up.

He gasped. "Hey!" he said.

"Shut up!" the man said harshly. He moved swiftly towards the desk and lifted a bronze ashtray in a lightning motion. He raised the object threateningly over the fat man's head.

"Keep quiet!" he said.

"What is this?" The Producer's voice quavered. Then he recognized the face. "You're the one from the Show—"

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