Such scrupulousness completed the favorable impression of the misanthrope. He nodded approvingly and said:
"Mr. Bofinger, you please me, I like your ways. And if you'll come around to the restaurant, I'd like to consult you—I want some advice. My name's Fargus, Max Fargus—you know that name, I'll bet."
"What, are you the Fargus!" Bofinger exclaimed, taking a step backwards.
"The same," Fargus said with a chuckle, flattered by the tribute. "You wonder why I came to you, don't you—on the quiet?"
"I am a little puzzled, I admit it, Mr. Fargus," Bofinger replied, putting a new deference into his address.
"I've been bitten too often," Fargus said with a grim nod. "There's a lot of your profession, Mr. Bofinger, who ain't no better than crooks!"
"Far too many," Bofinger said solemnly. "But I hope a better day will come."
They arrived in the private office. For the third time Fargus fidgeted and repeated:
"I want some advice."
"Well, sir, I hope I can help you," Bofinger said encouragingly.