musing myself."

Anxious about Benno's behaviour, Jordan called on the chief of the
clerical department. The little man with the waxened, weazened, face
expressed himself as quite satisfied with the new employe. Jordan took
him by the hand; it was his way of displaying gratitude. And he was
grateful, though it was hard for him to subdue a feeling of solicitude.
He recognised the boy's external amiability, but felt convinced that
this merely covered and concealed a decayed soul.

Alfons Diruf was obese and gloomy. His clothes were made in Paris, and
on the ring finger of his left hand was a brilliant diamond.

Since the Prudentia had introduced the so-called workmen's insurance,
the number of clerks on its payroll had been increased by about
twenty-five thousand. Of these eighty-four were under Diruf's direct
supervision. They were located in three rooms of a house in Fuerther
Street. They were pale and they were silent. Diruf himself had a private
office which resembled the boudoirs of a woman of the world. The
curtains were of blue silk, a bathing nymph by Thumann hung on the wall,
and the whole place smelled of musk.

Three times a day he would leave his fair retreat, and, with the mien of
disgust, make the rounds of the clerks' quarters. When they saw him
coming, heads ducked, hands scurried across the books, feet stopped
scraping, and all whispering died out.

He gave the impression of a man who hated his job, but in reality he
loved it. He liked the clerks because of their servile docility and
their famished faces. He liked them because they came promptly every
morning and went away every evening tired as tired could be, and because
day after day, year in and year out, they sat there and wrote, wrote,
wrote.

He liked the inspectors because day after day, year in and year out,
they did a great deal of work for a very little money. He liked the
agents and sub-agents who made it possible for the company to issue
hundreds of new policies every day. He liked their dirty clothes and
tattered boots, their hungry looks, their misleading but effective line
of talk, and their sad faces.

The special bait of the workmen's insurance was the small premium,
carrying with it a small policy. In this way the man of small means was
to be educated in thrift. As a rule, however, the small man realised,
when it was too late, that the agent had promised more than the company
could do. He became distrustful; his weekly savings w