intelligent as to be able to dispense with the services of office-boy
and stenographer; it was small but cozy. Offices in that building can be
rented for fifteen dollars per month.

After the eminent lawyer had fortified himself from a certain black
bottle labeled "Poison: external use only," which sat beside the
soap-dish in the little towel-cabinet, he assumed a very preoccupied
and highly official mien at his roller-top desk, where he became vitally
interested in a batch of letters, presumably that morning's mail, but
which in reality bore dates ranging back to the past year.

Then the eminent lawyer delved importantly into an empty letter-file;
emerged after ten minutes' study in order to give Blackstone a few
thoroughly familiar turns, opened the window further to cool his fevered
brain, lit a highly athletic cigar, crossed his legs, and was at last
at leisure to talk business with Garrison, who had almost fallen asleep
during the business rush.

"What's your name?" he asked peremptorily.

Ordinarily Garrison would have begged him to go to a climate where
thermometers are not in demand, but now he was hungry, and wanted a job,
so he answered obediently: "William Good."

"Good, William," said the eminent lawyer, smiling at himself in the
little mirror of the towel-cabinet. He understood that he possessed a
thin vein of humor. Necessary quality for an eminent lawyer. "And no
occupation, I presume, and no likelihood of one, eh?"

Garrison nodded.