Anyway, Bertram, desperate for some help, asks Don for an opinion, and Don, preternaturally calm, says it sounds like a great agency, and Duck is the man to run it. "I just don't think I'll be a part of it." The Foley guys are too disciplined for this, so you'll have to imagine a needle scratch yourself. Powell is confused, and Duck wastes no time bitching about Don's "artistic temperament," while Roger mildly asks if this position is really necessary. Duck can't let an actual discussion happen, though, ironically, given how much of a blowhard he's being, crowing that Don doesn't know how to be a team player. "You can either honor your contract, or you can walk out that door and start selling insurance." Don: "I don't have a contract." Okay, now we really need the needle scratch. I might actually go out and buy some vinyl and a turntable just to enhance my enjoyment of this moment. Duck looks like he just did a Freddy Rumsen as he looks at Roger in terror, and Roger offers that he and Don are close. "We didn't think we needed one." Duck literally slumps back in defeat, because whatever his plan is for SC, it doesn't include the legendary Don Draper in competition with them, and Don stands for his victory speech: "I sell products, not advertising. I can't see as far into the future as Duck, but if the world is still here on Monday, we can talk." Great words, but since he brings it up, don't you think the British contingent would have hopped the first plane back to Merry Olde England once JFK's speech hit the airwaves? I'm sure flights are hard to come by, but they've clearly got some money to play with, and it's not like they're in a bidding war for SC. Anyway, Don leaves, and Duck spits that he won't be hard to replace. "It'll take a second to find some kid who can write a prose poem to a potato chip!" He goes on, snarling and barely in control, and when he bangs the conference table for emphasis, there is a positively delicious moment where Bertram starts to rise out of his chair, like, "I may be old and a practitioner of Eastern philosophy, but I will still kick your ass, bitch." Powell, however, blessed with the infinite equanimity of the British upper class, merely asks Duck to step out so they can have a word, and Duck obliges. Powell takes a deep "Well, that was awkward" breath, and Roger, eyes on the prize, asks if this affects the merger. Powell says no: "He never could hold his liquor." Looks like Duck's going to have a while to contemplate how he managed to lose an election in which he was the only candidate.