t was the "asking price" of any particular residence
marked for sale upon the diagrams of the ponderous tomes.

Also--which is why Sharrow selected him for that particular
job--clients liked his good manners and his engaging ways.

The average client buys a freshly painted house in preference to a
well-built one, but otherwise clamours always for a bargain. The
richer the client the louder the clamour. And to such demands Shotwell
was always sympathetic--always willing to inquire whether or not the
outrageous price asked for a dwelling might possibly be "shaded" a
little.

It always could be shaded; but few clients knew that; and the
majority, much flattered at their own business acumen, entertained
kind feelings toward Sharrow & Co. and sentiments almost cordial
toward young Shotwell when the "shading" process had proved to be
successful.

But the black-eye dealt the residential district long ago had not yet
cleared up. Real property of that sort was still dull and inactive
except for a flare-up now and then along Park Avenue and Fifth.

War, naturally, had not improved matters; and, as far as the
residential part of their business was concerned, Sharrow & Co.
transacted the bulk of it in leasing apartments and, now and then, a
private house, usually on the West Side.

That morning, in the offices of Sharrow & Co., a few clients sat
beside the desks of the various men who specialised in the particular
brand of real estate desired: several neat young girls performed
diligently upon typewriters; old man Sharrow stood at the door of his
private office twirling his eyeglasses by the gold chain and urbanely
getting rid of an undesirable visitor--one Angelo Puma, who wanted
some land for a moving picture studio, but was persuasively unwilling
to pay for it.

He was a big man, too heavy, youngish, with plump olive skin, black
hair, lips too full and too red under a silky moustache, and eyes that
would have been magnificent in a woman--a Spanish dancer, for
example--rich, dark eyes, softly brilliant under curling lashes.

He seemed to covet the land and the ramshackle stables on it, but he
wanted somebody to take back a staggering mortgage on the property.
And Mr. Sharrow shook his head gently, and twirled his eyeglasses.

"For me," insisted Puma, "I do not care. It is good property. I would
pay cash if I had it. But I have not. No. My capital at the moment is
tied up in production; my daily expenses, at present, re