Late one afternoon, a fortnight after the day of Jerry's visit to her claim, Ponk, of the Commercial Hotel and Garage, slipped into the office of the Macpherson Mortgage Company.
"York, what happens to folks that tends to other folks's affairs?" he asked, as he spread his short proportions over a chair beside York's desk.
"Sometimes they get the gratitude of posterity. More generally their portion is present contempt and future obscurity. Are you in line for promotion on that, Ponk?" York replied.
"I'm 'bout ready to take chances," Ponk said, with a good-natured grin.
"All right. Am I involved in your scheme of things?" York inquired.
"You bet you are," Ponk assured him. "And, to be brief, knowin' how valuable your time is for gougin' mortgages out of unsuspectin' victims—"
"Well, we haven't foreclosed on the Commercial Hotel and Garage yet," York interrupted.
"No, but you're likely to the minute my back's turned. That's why I have to go facin' south all the time. But to get to real business now, York—"
"I wish you would," York declared.