The barber wearily looked at the filled chairs. “I don’t have time to talk,” he said. “I’m so short-handed!”
“Five minutes,” Bertha insisted. “And you’ll like it better if we talk where other people can’t hear us.”
The man was too utterly tired to argue. “All right,” he surrendered. “Come on back here,” and led the way toward the back room. “You’ll have to talk with me while I’m putting on my shop coat,” he warned in a voice loud enough to reach the men who were waiting. “I’ve got a shopful of customers.”
“Okay,” Bertha said.
The back room was a small, dimly lit place which had been partitioned off from the main shop. Several coats on hangers were suspended from hooks which had been screwed into a board that ran the length of the room. An old-fashioned hat tree held three hats. The barber took his off and made it four.
“All right, what do you want?” he asked, unbuttoning his vest.
“Everett Belder,” Bertha said, “know him?”
“The sales engineer?”
“Yes.”
“Yes. I know him. Has an office in the Rockaway Building. I’ve done his work for years.”