He entered "Schleger's place" with the air of an owner, nodded to the white-jacketed man behind the polished counter and before the polished mirror, and gave a quick, firm pressure to the plump, outstretched hand of the fat and grinning proprietor.
"All well with the family?" he asked, smiling his wry smile.
Ludwig Schleger beamed assent.
"Anything doing last night?"
"Nothin'," replied Ludwig. "'Ceptin' Mr. Dyker called you on the telephone. Wouldn't say what he wanted."
"I know that. Haven't had any more roughhousing?"
"No," grinned Schleger, wisely; "the boys are all got wise that they can't meddle with my new night-man."
"I see. Name's Hermann Hoffmann, ain't it?"
"That's right."
"Hum. Well, he may be useful. You must get him to move into this precinct, or else register him from here. Votes right, of course?"