CHAPTER IV
In the office McGregor occupied in Van Buren Street there was another
desk besides his own. The desk was owned by a small man with an
extraordinary long moustache and with grease spots on the lapel of his
coat. In the morning he came in and sat in his chair with his feet on
his desk. He smoked long black stogies and read the morning papers. On
the glass panel of the door was the inscription, "Henry Hunt, Real
Estate Broker." When he had finished with the morning papers he
disappeared, returning tired and dejected late in the afternoon.
The real estate business of Henry Hunt was a myth. Although he bought
and sold no property he insisted on the title and had in his desk a
pile of letterheads setting forth the kind of property in which he
specialised. He had a picture of his daughter, a graduate of the Hyde
Park High School, in a glass frame on the wall. When he went out at
the door in the morning he paused to look at McGregor and said, "If
any one comes in about property tend to them for me. I'll be gone for
a while."
Henry Hunt was a collector of tithes for the political bosses of the
first ward. All day he went from place to place through the ward
interviewing women, checking their names off a little red book he
carried in his pocket, promising, demanding, making veiled threats.
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