He'd meant what he said about his willingness to pay more for the extra trouble entailed in the mad construction pattern we had to follow, and I couldn't call him stingy with his extra compensation by a long shot.
Financially, I was doing nicely, thank you. Mentally, I was having the devil's own time with Stoddard.
He didn't know a damned thing about architecture or construction, of course. But he did know what he wanted. Good Lord, how he knew what he wanted!
"The basement boiler layout isn't what I had on my plans!" he'd call me up to squawk indignantly.
"But it isn't greatly different the way we have it," I'd plead. "Besides, it's far safer than what you originally planned."
"Is it humanly possible to put it where I planned it?" my troublesome client would demand.
"Yes," I'd admit. "But saf—"
"Then put it where I planned it!" he would snap, hanging up. And, of course, I'd have to put it where he'd planned it.
The workmen on the job also presented a problem. They were getting fed up with Stoddard's snooping, and going crazy laying out patterns which were in absolute contradiction to sanity and good taste.
But in spite of all this, the monstrosity progressed.