AND ALL THE EARTH A GRAVE

It all began when the new bookkeeping machine of a large Midwestern
coffin manufacturer slipped a cog, or blew a transistor, or something.
It was fantastic that the error--one of two decimal places--should
enjoy a straight run of okays, human and mechanical, clear down the
line; but when the figures clacked out at the last clacking-out
station, there it was. The figures were now sacred; immutable; and it
is doubtful whether the President of the concern or the Chairman of
the Board would have dared question them--even if either of those two
gentlemen had been in town.

As for the Advertising Manager, the last thing he wanted to do was
question them. He carried them (they were the budget for the coming
fiscal year) into his office, staggering a little on the way, and
dropped dazedly into his chair. They showed the budget for his own
department as exactly one hundred times what he'd been expecting. That
is to say, fifty times what he'd put in for.

When the initial shock began to wear off, his face assumed an
expression of intense thought. In about five minutes he leaped from
his chair, dashed out of the office with a shouted syllable or two for
his secretary, and got his car out of the parking lot. At home, he
tossed clothes into a travelling bag and barged toward the door,
giving his wife a quick kiss and an equally quick explanation. He
didn't bother to call the airport. He meant to be on the next plane
east, and no nonsense about it....