“Yes—what is the city hall but a place of refuge for the children of the city? I asked to see the Mayor. A young man in the other office said he was busy.”
“‘Then I’ll wait,’ I said, and I sat down.
“He kept me sitting there for a solid hour. You can imagine that I was pretty well annoyed. At the end of that time three fat, prosperous-looking men walked from the inner sanctum, and I was invited to go in.”
CHAPTER VIII.
THE HEART OF THE MAYOR
“Inside was a smaller, but still prosperous-looking man sitting like a roly-poly behind a desk, and blinking amiably at me with his small eyes.”
Margaretta smiled, and asked, “Young or old?”
“Oh, dear, I don’t know—couldn’t tell his age any more than I could tell the age of a plum-pudding. His face was fat and red, and he had so little hair that it might be either gray or sandy. I’d give him any age between fifteen and fifty.”
“Well, now, I don’t suppose he would be fifteen.”