into the ante-chamber to discover the business of a caller, that he
improved the opportunity to ask the youth some leading questions.

"Suppose you open up mornings?" he began carelessly.

"Naw; Mrs. A. does. She bunks here."

"How?"

"In a bed. She's got rooms in de buildin'. That door by Booker T. leads
to 'em."

"Booker T.? Oh, sure! The brunette statue. And that other door--the one
to the left. Where does that go?"

"Into Brander's storeroom. He sells mummies on de side."

"Does, eh? Curious business!" commented Simpkins. "Seems to rub it into
_you_ pretty hard. And stuck on himself! Don't seem able to spit
without ringing his bell for some one to see him do it. Guess you'd have
to have four legs to satisfy _him_, all right."

"Say, dat duck ain't on de level," the grievance for which Simpkins had
been probing coming to the surface.

"Holds out on what he collects? Steals?"

"Sure t'ing--de loidies," and the boy lowered his voice; "he's dead
stuck on Mrs. A."