"What about?" asked the man back of the grating.
"Important business, amigo. Where's he at?"
The man directed him to a door upon which was printed the legend, "Superintendent of Complaints." Inside, a man was dictating a letter to a stenographer. The bow-legged man in the wrinkled suit waited awkwardly until the letter was finished, twirling in his hands a white, broad-rimmed hat with pinched-in crown. He was chewing tobacco. He wondered whether it would be "etiquette" to squirt the juice into a waste-paper basket standing conveniently near.
"Well, sir! What can I do for you?" the man behind the big desk snapped.
"I wantta see the postmaster."
"What about?"
"I got important business with him."
"Who are you?"
"Me, I'm Johnnie Green of the B-in-a-Box Ranch. I just drapped in from
Arizona and I wantta see the postmaster."
"Suppose you tell your troubles to me."