As I came out of his office, Frank Reilly and Joe Carp walked by me, and I knew what he had said was true.
Having me around to look at was too much for them. I made them all uncomfortable.
Frank had just picked up a tray of rolls and both he and Joe turned when I called.
"Look, Charlie, I'm busy. Maybe later—" "No," I insisted. "Now—right now. Both of you have been avoiding me. Why?"
Frank, the fast talker, the ladies' man, the arranger, studied me for a moment and then set the tray down on the table.
"Why? I'll tell you why. Because all of a sudden you're a big shot, a know-it-all, a brain!
Now you're a regular whiz kid, an egghead. Always with a bookalways with all the answers.
Well, I'll tell you something. You think you're better than the rest of us here? Okay, go someplace else."
"But what did I do to you?" "What did he do? Hear that, Joe? I'll tell you what you did, Mister Gordon.
You come pushing in here with your ideas and suggestions and make the rest of us all look like a bunch of dopes.
But I'll tell you something. To me you're still a moron.
Maybe I don't understand some of them big words or the names of the books, but I'm as good as you are— better even."
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