"Why can't I stay here every other night for you, so that you can get more sleep? I can stand it."
"I don't look as though I was getting thin, do I? By the way, who is that fat party I notice about here occasionally, who seems to be interested in loading for Becker & Co.?"
"You mean that fellow whose face looks like over-ripe cow's liver, and waddles, and whose clothes are smelly?"
"Yes, I think that is the man," I replied, smiling.
"That is Becker himself. He buys all the rejects of the city's provision inspectors and almost anything that's got grease or fertilizer in it. He used to load that stuff during the day, but they got to making a fuss about his taking it through the street and made him handle it at night, when graveyards hold their noses. Gad, I always hate to see him coming."
"Becker & Co., fertilizer works?"
"Yes, somewhere up the river."
The next morning I was late and was hurrying into the building occupied by the auditor, in which I had my office. It contained more than four stories, was about two hundred feet long, with a wide hall through the center of each floor. The room assigned to me was on the third floor, and was reached by narrow stairs.
When I passed the second floor I saw Becker at the far end of the hall talking to a young woman clerk, and I was sure I saw him pinch her cheek, and furthermore, I was absolutely certain that the object of his frolicsome caress was my clerk, who entered the office immediately after me. She appeared to be somewhat flustered, and her cheeks flamed with color.
The incident was not particularly significant, but enough to make me want to know all about Mr. Becker, of Becker & Co., fertilizer manufacturers, and also about the young woman who compiled my data and wrote my letters.