The man's skill at saying yes, and at leaping up to do his master's bidding, had earned for him a glistening silver Buick Phaeton convertible.
The Phaeton slowed down at the Garden of Allah, that legendary retreat of Hollywood Bohemia where on any day one might find the poolside festooned with the most daring and brilliant of actors and writers.
Then it turned right and continued down the hill.
Just as he'd hoped and expected, the air was rent by a single sound: a typerwriter clattering at inhuman speed.
Ed suggested nine lines of his own, although "suggest" may be the wrong word, as his fingers never stopped pounding.
Paulie turned in at the gate to the Fox lot. "Look who I got," he said to the guard.
He accelerated abruptly and stopped even more abruptly at the Writers' Building.
"Did you see the eyeful they gave Furthman?" Johnny said.
"I'll bet Shirley Temple could still do it," Ed said. "Just put her in one of those pinafores she used to wear."
"Laughs!" Ed said. "Don Ameche as the cabbie and Clifton Webb as the pimp!"
"And Jane Withers!" said Johnny. "How old is Jane Withers now, anyway?"
"This could be Amos and Andy's chance to get back on the big screen!" Ed boomed.